Killing Time
by Allegra
Summary: Still labelled a traitor by his brothers, Dastan falls into the deadly hands of Nizam whilst on a mission to clear his name. Are there fates worse than death?
1. Chapter 1

5

KILLING TIME

A 'Prince of Persia : Sands of Time' tale

By Allegra

Rating : M I think, for violence

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or places described. They are mostly the property of Disney. I'm just borrowing them from the toy box and will put them back exactly where I found them at the end!

Author's note: I do like a bit of hurt/comfort, which the film was lacking, so I have rewritten a portion with a different outcome. I have only seen the film once so I apologise for any discrepancies or errors herein – I will iron out any creases when I can spend many hours rewatching it on DVD! I hope you enjoy it & please, please review because that's the best motivation a girl can ask for!

* * *

Dastan had entered the city gates of Alamut with a heavy heart. Mere days ago, he would have felt relief and joy at seeing the conquered minarets and glowing domes that promised sanctuary and the warm embrace of those who loved him. Now, all that had been cruelly wrenched from him and the young prince had no choice but to fight back with a truth only he knew. It tore at Dastan's soul to know that his adopted brothers felt such hatred towards him, believing him the assassin of their own father, King Sharaman. Determined to set the record straight and prove it was no less than their beloved advisor and uncle, Nizam, who was responsible, he had dared to return from whence he had been banished.

The dagger was once again in Dastan and Tamina's possession, with no little debt owed to Sheikh Amar and his loyal men. Now, the prince had to convince his brother, Tus, of the dagger's power and the very real danger looming ahead should Nizam lay his hands on the sands of time hidden below the hallowed city. Dastan swallowed, his throat parched with anxiety as he considered the welcome he would receive at his brother's hands. Tus was no longer Crown Prince of Persia but King, a king surrounded by guards and counsellors who would do everything to stand in the way of Dastan.

He had left Tamina with Sheikh Amar, who had promised to ensure her safety, although Dastan doubted even the smooth entrepreneur had the estimate of the beautiful princess. Still, the prince could not afford to allow his concern for her to overshadow the business he attended to now. He knew that he would need his wits about him at all times if he were going to make it to Tus alive.

Dastan slid like a shadow through the bustling courtyards, deftly lifting himself up onto sloping rooftops and leaping effortlessly from one to the next, until finally he saw Tus sitting at a desk beside the window in one of the larger turrets. As he approached the roof edge, Dastan realised the jump was too great even for him, he would have to drop down into the corridor leading towards the tower and enter directly through the main door. From the angle he was at, it was impossible to see how well guarded the young king's room was, so Dastan decided he must prepare for the worst.

Swinging down onto the wooden poles protruding from the roof, he jumped silently onto the cool tiles of the corridor floor. Quickly jumping up from his crouching position, Dastan's hands went to the curved scimitar at his side, surveying the space around him. There was no sign of anyone, not even one sleepy guard at his brother's door. Although it served his purpose, the prince couldn't help swearing under his breath at the lax efforts to care and protect the new monarch. To his left, the corridor looked down over a peaceful courtyard with a bubbling fountain in its centre and his eyes tracked above to where another set of outer corridors ran parallel. Dastan could sense nothing and not a footstep sounded above his own breathing, which he noticed was growing heavier with each step he took towards Tus' door. He desperately needed his brother's redemption and alliance, but, even with the dagger of time in his possession, ready as proof of Nizam's plans, the prince feared the outcome. What future did he have if no one would believe him?

"So the bastard prince returns?" A voice slithered to Dastan's ear and he whirled on his feet to confront his uncle, momentarily perplexed as to where Nizam had appeared from. "You dare to enter here? A traitor and a murderer?"

"You know that they are lies, born of your own poisoned mind, uncle." Dastan surveyed the cold, hard face where he had once found a smile. "Do you have so little care for your own family...that you would see us all dead in exchange for such unenviable power?"

A cruel smile twitched at Nizam's lips. "Aah, you may take the urchin from rags to riches, but you can never clean his gutter blood. That has always been your problem, Dastan, you have no ambition. You do not see that wielding the power of an empire is every nobleman's dream. It was not always a dream for me, it was once a very real future. But my strength failed me when the time came, I saved my brother when I should have left him. I will not make the same mistake twice. This kingdom is my right, it is my destiny."

Dastan's hand gripped tighter to his scimitar as Nizam moved towards him, even if the older man appeared to be unarmed. He fixed his uncle with blue eyes, struggling with the sudden clench in his heart as he recognised that the family he held so dear was rotting from the core. "I fear I have lost the uncle I loved and respected."

Nizam's face suddenly fell, drawing into lines of severity. "And that pains me to know," he replied.

Before Dastan could register whether the words were spoken in truth or mockery, he heard the sharp crack of a whip behind him. A fraction of a second later, the prince felt the burning rawness of leather wrapped around his throat. His hands went to his neck, scrabbling at the tightening whip as his scimitar clattered to the floor. The harder he tugged, the worse the constriction. Dastan's eyes looked fearfully into those of his uncle, who had barely moved an inch, and opened his mouth to speak. "Uncle...please..." he managed before realising how little breath his body was able to take in. His chest heaved in an effort to draw in air but Nizam simply stood by and watched the young man struggle against his inevitable demise. Dastan's lungs burned like fire, sapping his strength with each passing second. Finally, in an act of thoughtless act of helplessness, one hand reached lazily for Nizam's robe as his vision began to dim, grey tinging the edges of the world. Dastan tried desperately to swallow but something sharp seemed to be obstructing his windpipe. He gasped, a futile motion, and withdrew his hands as he realised that they were growing wet. Focusing his hazy vision, the prince saw that it was not sweat slicked on his palms but blood. The whip was barbed and embedded in the tender flesh of his neck. Panic took hold and Dastan could not resist the strong arms pressed against his shoulders, pushing him down to his knees.

Nizam cupped a scarred hand to his nephew's cheek, watching with interest as the young prince's face contorted through shock, panic, fear and headed into the dazed confusion of near unconsciousness. "Oh, Dastan, my dear boy. You should not have come back, I had hoped you possessed sense enough..."

Dastan coughed weakly, his body shuddering against his uncle's firm grip. Unable to hold his head up anymore, he allowed himself to fall forwards, his forehead rolling drunkenly against Nizam's shoulder. He coughed again, feeling the warm splash of blood against his face and his uncle's robes. The coughs subsided into wet hiccups, each one bringing the tangy, metallic taste of blood up into his mouth. His hands slowly released their grip on Nizam, slipping lifelessly to his side as his uncle cradled him against him in a mockery of affection. Dastan could just make out a gentle whisper in his ear, a last moment of comfort before death took him. The prince's eyes locked lazily onto the tiled floor and the droplets of his own blood set in stark relief against the white marble. Gradually, the world lost its colour and darkness brought an end to his suffering.

Nizam pushed his nephew's inert body up and away from his own, watching intently for any sign of trickery. Dastan's breath came in short, shallow rasps, his face ashen as a thin rivulet of blood ran down his chin. Remorselessly, the vizier nodded curtly to the hassansin who roughly stepped forwards and disentangled his precious whip from the mangled flesh of Dastan's neck. "Bring him," Nizam instructed, pausing only to grasp the dagger of time from the young man's belt then letting the young man's body fall to the floor.

Coiling his blood stained whip over one shoulder, the hassansin dragged Dastan up by his arms before hoisting the prince over the other then followed his master into the hidden shadows of the palace. As far as the royal household was aware, Dastan had never been here, exiled a traitor and no more than a stain in the minds of his adopted family.

* * *

Hundreds of camels, loaded with wares, rambled in and out of the city, their owners plying trade across the Persian desert. Anything under the sun could be found if one was willing to trawl through enough money grubbing merchants and their incessant badgering as you walked the narrow streets. The day was hot and people were irritable, desperate to get out of the bustle and heat of the market place and make their way back to the cool and relative peace of their homes. So, another camel, bearing a single rolled up carpet was nothing of note. Not even the hooded man in black who accompanied the beast and glanced shiftily around was a source of interest. The city was in upheaval, unsure of its destiny now that Princess Tamina was missing and the new King of Persia had set up residence there. He had ordered all able bodied men to dig deep into the sand beneath the palace, rumour said he was searching for the fabled sands of time. Were they being ruled by a madman? Or was there some truth to the rumours? If the dagger and the sand truly existed, the people of Alamut did not rejoice at the notion. Tales handed down over countless generations told of the gods' wrath when any man tried to raise themselves beyond the status of mortals. Should the king find what he was looking for, they might all be doomed to die at the hands of the heavens and their unlimited anger.

With everyone lost in their own thoughts, nobody spared much time for the comings and goings of wandering merchants. Had anyone looked closer at the dark man and his load, they might have made out the contours of a man beneath the carpet shroud and even spied a tangle of dark hair protruding from one end. The camel made its way dutifully behind the hussansin's impressive black horse and out into the desert.

The hussansin took his oath seriously. Whatever task he had been charged with must be carried out exactly as commanded. Some might say this particular task was easier than most – there was no fighting to be expected, no peril to take his life, indeed even no stealth was required once the city gates had closed behind him. His job was simple – take the bastard prince into the most unforgiving region of the Persian desert, far away from any civilisation, and leave him there to rot under the savage sun, carrion until all that was left were bleached bones. Nobody would know the fate of Dastan, the orphan raised from the slums to the palace, his blood tainted but his heart as noble as a king's.

It was the hussansin's devout promise from the first day of training that he would ask no questions, nor brook thoughts or actions that might divert the intent of his employer. No man of virtue had ever asked for his services; the hussansin knew that he was doomed to suffer a terrible fate when his time came for the cruel deeds he had performed in this life. It did not matter that they had been in another man's name. He had given up his honour for the assurance that he would never go hungry again and always have a roof over his head. They seemed such simple needs, surely the right of any man, but this hussansin had found himself staring into the face of death at a prison on the outermost reaches of the empire. The scarred man who had found him and brought him back into the daylight and poured salve on his wounds had seemed an angel, a saviour then. He had committed to the assassin's life without question, a child raised in the house of a monster.

Prepared for the arduous journey with countless water skins, plenty of firewood to endure the cold nights and a light tent should a sandstorm creep up on him, the hassansin spurred his horse on with a note of joy in his heart. This mission was as close to freedom as he was likely to get.

* * *

Tamina had suffered the dull chatter of Sheik Amar for hours and her temper was fraying. She did not like to admit it, even to herself, but her concern for Dastan was growing with each passing minute. He was walking into the enemy lair with nothing but a dagger many would kill to possess and his blind faith that a brother's love cannot be so easily lost. The princess drowned out Amar's ramblings with her own thoughts, the soft curve of Dastan's smile, those deep pools of blue that stared back at her with an intensity that took her breath away. The recollection of his strong hands on her arm sent a shiver through her body and she quickly drew herself upright, flashing a glare at Amar in case he had seen her wistful expression as she daydreamed. So self absorbed was he, she was relieved to find that he was still lost in his own ruminations about advances in emu racing.

"We cannot sit around here any longer. I am going to find Dastan, this is taking much too long." She stood up and looked around her, considering her best course of action.

Amar caught her hand, pleadingly. "No, no, princess! You must stay here with me. I promised Dastan I would protect you and I am not about to break that promise. He will return in good time, do not fear."

"Spoken like a true coward," Tamina spat back. "You know as well as I the dangers he faces with Tus and Nizam. I was a fool to let him go alone in the first place." Drawing her headscarf across the lower half of her face, she stepped forwards in the crowd.

As expected, Amar was immediately at her side. "Then I must come with you." Without acknowledging him, Tamina strode towards the palace goods' entrance. Considering that Tus must be furnishing himself in the royal suite, she knew she could access the secret passages that few knew about. Fortunately for her, the princess had a good memory for faces and names, so could recognise her own people and those from Nasaf. She only hoped they still had enough loyalty to their princess that they would allow her to slip past into the heart of the palace.

It did not take long before she was halfway to her goal but, with each step further from the bustle of the serving areas, Amar stood out more and more like a sore thumb. Tamina knew she would be better off alone and took cruel advantage of his lardy shape by moving faster and faster until the sheik was panting and sweating like a pig. "Amar, we must jump from here to there," she said, pointing to a balcony several feet away from them. "Are you ready?"

Amar waved his hands in surrender. "Aah, princess, I am not...I mean I cannot..."

"Wait here for me," she said softly. "I cannot go back now."

The sheik paused in thought for a moment, torn between his promise to Dastan and the wilfulness of the princess. Finally, realising he was of no use here at all, he rummaged at his heaving belly and produced a jewelled knife. Passing it to Tamina by its shining hilt, he pressed her hand, "Take this for protection. Be careful, princess. Dastan, I, will never forgive myself in anything befalls you."

Tamina smiled warmly. "I know this palace like the back of my hand. It is my enemies who should fear me. I will see you soon," she promised, tucking the knife into her waistband and gauging the leap to the balcony.

Amar watched with equal measure of horror and admiration as she sailed through the air like a feather and landed just as lightly on the balcony ledge. With a final smile of reassurance, Tamina disappeared down a darkened corridor, leaving Amar to find his own way back to their meeting spot.

* * *

Tamina could feel a prickle of sweat breaking out across her upper lip as she left behind the last of the civilians who pottered good naturedly around the palace. Now, the people were few and far between, each one more important and familiar to the other, where she had more chance of being recognised as an intruder. Hearing voices ahead of her, she quickly pressed herself flat against the wall of a nearby alcove, waiting for their owners to pass. To her horror, they stopped mere metres away from where she was hidden. She tried to even out her breathing but her heart was pounding so fast, it was near impossible to regulate anything in her body. All she could do was unsheathe the dagger Amar had given her and lie in wait for the moment she was discovered.

One of the voices sounded familiar and Tamina strained her memory to place it. She daren't poke her head further forwards to see who the owner was, the risk was too great. Then, as the man continued speaking, pieces of the puzzle fell into place and her heart sank with it. "When he returns, I want you to bring him directly to me – no waiting. I do not care what you are interrupting –I must hear from the elected hussansin himself that the bastard son is truly dead, if I have not already done the job. I will keep the dagger at my side at all times but I want one of your men nearby every moment of every day until Dastan is dead. It cannot slip through our fingers again, do you understand me?"

So the dagger had been returned to Nizam. That meant only one thing, that Dastan had failed in his endeavour to seek counsel with Tus and set the world to rights. The mention of the Hussansin could only mean one thing – Dastan had been killed or worse. The footsteps moved closer to Tamina's hiding place and she squeezed the dagger more tightly to her. Nizam swept past her, accompanied by a horribly scarred man, draped in dark cloth. Neither man caught sight of Tamina yet she remained frozen to the spot for minutes afterwards, unable to move in case her shaking legs gave way beneath her.

What now? She had to find Tus and seek absolution for Dastan herself. Without the dagger as proof, she could only hope that he would believe her in good faith. What did she serve to gain by lying or returning to the palace when she knew the fate that awaited her? Steadying herself as best she could, Tamina set her course to the royal chamber.

* * *

The hussansin squinted up at the glaring sun, a giant ball of fire raining its heat upon him. His training had prepared him for many hardships, including unbearable desert heat, but he knew it would be wise to rest for a few minutes before he passed the final outpost that bordered the dangerous desert depths. Dismounting the horse, he led it to a water trough, pulling the camel along with it, and used an old rag hanging nearby it to gently wash the sweating flanks of his magnificent steed. He had been given the best horse Nizam could offer, one that possessed unsurpassed stamina to enable the hassansin to carry out his job without trouble. The assassin was grateful, even if the animal drew more attention than he was accustomed to. Once he was sure the animals were well catered for with food and plenty of shade, the hassansin attended to his own needs. Secreting himself far from the other travellers who had stopped there, he settled under an awning propped against a dry stone wall. It provided a little shade and just enough privacy for the assassin to drink and eat without disturbance.

Once he was full, the hassansin tethered his animals beside him and darted a glance around him to check he was not being watched before sliding the rolled up carpet from the camel's back. It hit the ground with a thud and the man unceremoniously flicked at it with his foot until it unrolled to reveal Dastan. He knelt beside the young prince and reached for his wrist, pressing calloused fingers to the inside until he felt the thud of life blood pulsing, albeit slowly, through the man's veins. He was not dead and that had been Nizam's instructions. The vizier wanted the death to look natural, a slow painful torture of dehydration and sun exposure. The wounds to his neck were bad but not severe enough to cause death. If that had been the prince's fate, it would have happened the moment the spikes of the whip had impaled themselves in his neck, probably directly into his jugular.

Carefully, he pressed one of the water skins to the young man's parched lips. At first, the water simply trickled down his neck but then Dastan took an involuntary gulp of the fresh liquid, swallowing it with a cough. The water caught in his chest, causing his cough to morph into hacks as it slid down the wrong way. Keen not to draw attention to himself, the hassansin propped the prince up against the stone wall, giving him a hearty thump on the back as he did so. For a moment a little colour returned to the young man's cheeks before fading away as he cracked open his eyes. They stared ahead as he slowly tried to orientate himself, then found the shadowy form of the hassansin beside him.

Dastan's vision was blurry, everything around him distorted and bright. He knew he was not alone and it took a few minutes for him to remember the details of what had happened to him. So he wasn't dead. At least that was something to be grateful for...perhaps. The hassansin sitting close by on his haunches told him there might be worse things than death to follow. Such men were not hired unless the job required bloody hands, no witnesses and no one to point the finger at. Nizam would not have spared his life. "What..?" Dastan's voice was nothing more than a faint rumbling whisper in his throat and, try as he might, he could not speak the question that burned in his brain.

"Drink," was all the hassansin would say. He proffered a fresh water skin, watching the prince intently.

Dastan would have liked nothing more than to defy the man's wishes but the sweet promise of more water was too great to resist. He took the skin in both hands and tilted his head back, taking as much of the cold liquid as his injured throat would allow. He could feel it snaking a cool path through his insides, coming to rest in his empty stomach.

Idly he wondered whether Tamina had noticed his absence yet or if she even cared. Suddenly, Dastan found it strangely difficult to focus on one coherent thought. He knew he needed to escape but his mind must have been addled by the heat because he couldn't find the energy to care much about anything. The world was so bright he just needed to close his eyes for a few minutes and then he would feel refreshed. He let his eyelids droop, forcing them open once more before succumbing to darkness again.

The hassansin watched the prince's body give in to the drug he had dispersed into the water. It would not do to have a struggling captive for the rest of the journey. He was still a solid day's ride from the drop-off region and he knew he should not inflict more damage on Dastan if he was to carry out his task to the utmost.

He roughly dragged Dastan by the arm until he was lying the right way up on the carpet and tightly rolled the heavy woven fabric back up. The hassansin pulled it upright and forced it up onto the camel's back once more. The animal protested in surprise before settling down once more. Ensuring all his skins were replenished, the assassin mounted the stallion and spurred it out of the outpost into more and more forbidding territory.

* * *

Tamina pressed her ear against the door to Tus' chamber, listening to the sound of voices inside. She knew from when she had occupied the rooms herself that any advisors would leave by another door, towards the council chambers. This was the domestic entrance, unlikely to be used by anyone beyond immediate family and household servants. She was counting on the latter being loyal subjects of Alamut who might take pity on her plight and leave her be.

Finally, the voices were raised in jolly farewells and Tamina waited patiently for a few minutes longer to be sure Tus was alone. Taking a deep breath, she lay her hand against the golden door. It was now or never.

She pushed the door open and quickly stepped inside, allowing it to close silently behind her. At first, Tus did not seem aware of her presence, his head bent over some scrolls scattered across the table. Tamina did not want to startle him in case instincts told him to call the guards without a second thought. On the other hand, she did not know how to present herself without doing so. It turned out that she did not need to.

Still with his back turned to her, Tus spoke quietly, warning dripping from every pronounced syllable. "Take one more step and this fine floor will be the last thing you see." He whirled, his expression deadly, until it registered who stood before him. "Princess Tamina?" The venom left his voice and the princess was certain she could not have given him more of a shock had she been a dancing bear in his midst. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I have wondered the same thing several times today," she said, pleased that her voice did not betray the trembling she felt inside. "But I am left with no choice, sire."

Tus seemed taken aback by this new version of the princess he had met days before, now humble and subservient in her manner and voice. It melted his resistance a little. The desert was a dangerous, uninviting place for a woman alone. Perhaps she had discovered that the hard way and had returned to take up a place as another dutiful wife to the King of the Persian Empire. "No choice? Dastan has become a stranger to me in many ways but I thought his manners still extended to ensuring a lady of royal birth was safe before abandoning her."

"No, you misunderstand me, sire. It is for Prince Dastan that I have come." Unbidden tears welled in Tamina's eyes, surprising them both.

His heart softened by the plight of the princess, helped along by his lack of female company these past weeks, Tus guided her to the seats beside the window. "I am afraid you have wasted your time, princess. Dastan is a fugitive from the law. He would not dare return here for fear of the penalty he will face."

"Your Highness, Dastan did indeed return here, knowing he had no choice but to seek audience with you...to clear his name." Tamina wished she had taken more time to consider what she would say to sway Tus' poisoned mind. It seemed she was doing nothing more than weeping like a hysterical woman and sounding increasingly like someone who understood nothing of the predicament she had thrown herself into.

Tus listened politely, but she could sense he was stiffening against her tears. "Madam, there is nothing Dastan can say to..." He broke off, not trusting his voice to continue without breaking. "Dastan is dead to me. In my mercy as his brother once, I hope he never returns, and that he can live with the decisions he has made, far from here."

Tamina felt her chance to change his mind slipping away from her and, in her desperation, she threw herself to the floor at the young king's feet, reaching to him in supplication. "In the short time that I have spent with Prince Dastan, I have learned many things, Your Highness. He is all the things that you thought him to be before the untimely death of your father. He has been dishonourably set up for a crime he did not commit."

Tus leaned forward, gripping her arms tightly, his eyes flashing angrily. "You grow too bold, princess. What can you know about the struggles of my family?"

"Have you heard of the dagger of time and the sands which fill it, Sire?"

"Ridiculous tales, handed down by one illiterate fool to another. There is no truth to the stories," Tus stated, impatiently.

"What if I told you the tales were true, every last bit of them? That there is indeed a dagger now in your uncle's possession with the power to reverse time, far enough back that Sharaman's view of the throne was not so certain." Tamina poured every ounce of her energy into the intent gaze she fixed on the relentless Tus. "Why does your uncle dig so deep into the sands with such fanatical fervour? Can it truly be weapons he seeks so far beneath the ground? Please, Your Highness, I beg if you will, listen to what I have to say..."

Tus was still, his whole body as frozen as a statue. Tamina could see the battle raging deep within his soul, the cold, unbendable will of a king fighting against the fearsome tide of emotion which bound him to Dastan and the fraternal love they had been forced to abandon. At first, the princess was unsure that Tus, the man, would win against Tus, the king, but finally the man's eyes softened and he drew away from her. Gesturing to the seat opposite him, he cleared his throat. "If you will lift yourself from the floor, I will listen."

* * *

The sun set, bleeding red through the windows of the chambers and casting a glow over every glittering surface. Still Tamina spoke, her voice animated first with pain then with joy at the memories of everything the dagger and its powers had meant to her, her guardianship, her role as Matriarch of the Guardians. Tus remained silent throughout, occasionally asking prompting questions, probing every gap in her story, looking for a mistake that would mark her out to be a traitor like his brother. Even as the sun sank, passing the stage to the eloquent moon, her starry dress spread across the night sky, so Tamina continued with her life story and the events that had led her here.

Finally, Tus raised his hand to stop Tamina. "I have heard enough. If what you say is true, then my uncle has the dagger. Seeing it with my own two eyes will tell me the truth."

"Your uncle will not let it out of his sight now, not after all that has befallen it so far. You only need to see Nizam to find the dagger," Tamina promised.

"Then I will seek audience with him immediately," Tus asserted, standing suddenly and straightening his robes. The princess wished she could stop him, afraid that he too would suffer the same fate that had taken Dastan. But surely even Nizam would not be foolish enough to assassinate the king so rashly? "You must remain here, Princess. I will instruct my chamber to be guarded and no one allowed in until I return. You will not be discovered."

Tamina opened her mouth to protest but caught herself, suddenly acutely aware of how much footing she had already gained. She dare not jeopardise it by playing the diva. Tus was on the cusp of accepting her version of events, she had to allow him this last wish to convince himself. She nodded and bowed her head submissively. Their eyes met fleetingly and Tamina saw a new emotion reflected in the king – hope.

* * *

Nizam happily received his nephew, heartily embracing Tus as if he had not seen him for months. "My dear child and, indeed, sovereign. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Tus managed a smile, his eyes immediately lighting on his uncle's embellished belt. To his dissatisfaction, there was no knife. "I have need of your counsel, uncle. I am worried that Dastan will return, that once his courage has been twisted for a new purpose, he will stop at nothing to wreak havoc here...to try and take my crown."

Nizam smiled, his eyes twinkling, then the smile broke into a laugh, deep and hearty. He clapped a hand to Tus' back, "Dear nephew, dismiss that whelp from your thoughts. Do not forget that we know his heart and mind better than any, there is no surprise we will not have foreseen. Besides, what trouble do you think he can cause when he is but one man against an army?"

"He is a resourceful man. It does not take an army to stab at the heart of a man," Tus asserted.

Nizam's smile faded and he drew Tus towards the wall, conspiratorially. "If it will ease your mind, then I have news that I have not shared with a soul."

Tus felt his stomach tighten in grim anticipation. "Then you share your secret with no less than a king, uncle."

"Indeed, indeed," Nizam whispered, his eyes bright with intensity. "Dastan was here." Tus feigned surprise but his uncle continued, "I did not want to tell you, distract you from your royal duties when there is so much to be done in searching for these weapons. I found him when he was on his way to your rooms, stealthy weasel that he has always been. Now, Your Highness, do not be alarmed, but I had recently hired the expertise of the Hassansin, purely as a precautionary measure in case of any such eventuality. Thank the gods that I did!"

Tus swallowed dryly, hoping his face did not betray his fear for what he was certain he was about to hear. "Did you dispatch the traitor?"

Nizam smiled, secure in his belief that Tus shared his hatred for the bastard prince. "The Hassansin have taken him far from here, to a place so arid and uninhabitable, he will not last more than a day. It is the perfect solution. No one can be blamed for his death and no trial can divide the people of Persia. He will be the traitor who fled to save his life and died at the hands of nature."

Tus forced a grin to his face, mustering every positive thought he could to mask the deep pit of horror mounting inside him. "I am indebted to you, uncle."

"Do not think of it, Your Highness. The only gift I would ask is that you keep this information between us. The fewer who are involved with this vile business the better, eh?" His eyes bored into Tus, daring the young man to defy him. Tus nodded tersely. "Now, would you care to join me for a drink?" Nizam moved to the gilt table, set out with fruit, sweet delicacies and flagons of Alamut's finest wine.

Tus wanted nothing more than to flee his uncle's presence but he knew it would only arouse suspicion and he had not yet received the evidence that he had come for. "That sounds a fine idea, uncle." He flopped down onto the cushioned seat and picked at the dish of delights beside him. All the while, he scoped the room for some sign of the dagger. The room was adorned with so much finery it was difficult to make out each individual object in the candlelight which reflected off almost every surface.

At last, as Nizam turned away from him to find the goblets, Tus caught sight of a knife protruding from the waistband at his uncle's back. Remembering that his uncle firmly believed his nephew to be an ignorant ally, Tus tempted fate. "That is a very fine dagger, uncle. Where did it come from?"

The king saw how the vizier stiffened at the question. If Tus has been able to see his uncle's face, he was sure it would be drawn into lines of deceit. "It was a spoil when the city was taken. It is not as precious as it appears, gaudy and of little value." He whirled back towards his nephew, concealing the weapon from view.

"Might I see it more closely?" Tus asked.

"As king, you have the finest jewels the world possesses. What interest is one silly knife?" Nizam's voice edged towards a tone of caution, as if challenging Tus to proceed with this line of enquiry.

"But, as you so rightly say, I _am_ indeed King of Persia. What is yours is mine...and I would like to see it." Tus knew only too well that he should take care how he stepped next, but he could not leave without holding this famed dagger in his own two hands.

Eyes flashing darkly, Nizam fumbled with the fastening that held the dagger firmly against his body and handed it reverently over to his nephew. As Tus turned it over in his hands, he felt his uncle's eyes upon him. He tried to remain calm and treat the knife as he would any spoil of war. "You are right, it is a strange, gaudy little thing. What is this impracticality? A glass handle? Too tight a grip and you would have a handful of shards embedded in your flesh! But what is this?" He gestured to the curious bauble atop the dagger's hilt.

Nizam all but grabbed the knife back from Tus. "It is not even ruby, nothing more than polished glass I suspect."

Tus pretended he had not noticed his uncle's strange and somewhat insubordinate behaviour. "Well, it does not befit a king's uncle, but if you like it so much..." He shrugged and reached for the wine flagon, pouring them both a generous glass.

The conversation turned to more pleasant topics, the different foods on offer in Alamut than at Nasaf, the beauty of some of the court women and the views from different vantage points of the palace. After some time had passed in companiable silence, Tus ventured another probe at what had happened to Dastan. "Uncle, I cannot thank you enough for saving my life today. I make wild assumptions...was it today that my brother was here?"

Nizam nodded quietly. "Indeed it was," then tilted his head towards the starlit window, "almost a day ago now. You are safe, my King." He raised his goblet in a toast and knocked back the dregs. "Aaah, but now we must get some rest. There is much to be achieved here and we must not neglect our bodies and minds in pursuit of it."

"Of course you are right, uncle, my ever steadfast counsel." Tus stood up and embraced his uncle as tenderly as he could muster. "I bid you goodnight." Nizam bowed his head and watched his nephew sweep from the room.

* * *

Tus hastened to his room, wishing he could run without drawing attention to himself. He marched past the guards appointed at his room without a glance. He was relieved to find that Tamina had done as she was bidden and had succumbed to sleep on the couch. Tus did not want to wake her but time was of the essence if they were to find Dastan alive. Gently shaking her by the shoulder, he waited for the princess to orient herself and open her eyes. "Your Highness! Did you...?"

"Yes, yes I did. But the Hassansin have Dastan. My uncle instructed them to leave him somewhere in the remotest part of the desert and leave him to the birds." Tus stalked across the room, unravelling one scroll after another.

"What are you looking for?" Tamina asked.

"We need a map of the realm. This is not the first time the Hassansin have resorted to such methods. They always head south, about a day's ride beyond the furthermost outpost before the border."

Tamina jumped up and began helping him search, her knowledge of the royal quarters much better than his. Her mind struggled to digest the new information. "Here!" she called, bringing a large map to the table where Tus had swept aside a space. "But even if we have the right region, to find one man in the desert will be like looking for a needle in a haystack."

Tus ignored her, moving his finger from one outpost to another until he came to rest in the south east corner of the empire. "There. I am sure of it. As a child, my father used to tell us stories of the dreaded Hassansin and the unfortunate victims that were found long after their souls had departed." He looked up into Tamina's distraught face. "But we will not let Dastan become one of them. We must leave immediately."

END OF PART ONE

Please let me know your thoughts on the story so far - just a few words would mean the world to me!


	2. Chapter 2

KILLING TIME

PART 2

See Part 1 for disclaimers.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm not really sure that this is the sort of story many people want to read on here. Most POP fics seem to steer clear of strong hurt/comfort themes. A big thank you to the extremely kind people who have reviewed so far (Cattaglotisme, Marie, Ruby Fresh, Arcadia Pendragon, Alone Dreaming, Bansheila, Kittykat710, Yami no Yume). Sadly, you seem to be few & far between in enjoying this. If readers want me to continue, please, please review so I can see if there is enough interest to warrant more chapters.

AUTHOR'S NOTE 2 - NEW 17/7/10 : I've had to rewrite this chapter a bit & repost it. Absolutely huge apologies to Arcadia Pendragon – I have had to remove Garsiv from the story again. Apart from discovering that my AU-ness would go a bit too far if I brought him back to life but writing a party of 3 riding to the rescue was just getting a bit unwieldy. It works well with just Tamina & Tus. But if my POP mood holds, I promise there'll be a proper brotherly story for you, Tamina free! Apologies again for a long author's note & for writing out Garsiv – I hope it doesn't ruin anyone's enjoyment of the fic too much.

* * *

Dastan drifted on a cloud of oblivion, his mind disconnected from his body. He thought of nothing at first but then dreams gently swept in on the tide, bringing with them visions of home. He felt the warm swell of pride as he sat beside his father, treated with respect and love beyond the young man's imagining. Dastan smiled into the lined and life worn face of King Sharaman, reaching a hand out to touch the old man. But, as hard as he tried, his father was always just beyond the tip of his fingertips. "Father?" Dastan whispered, his voice confused and urgent. Sharaman's smile faded and sadness filled the watery blue depths of his eyes. "Why? My most cherished child...my murderer." A single tear followed the grooved contours of his wrinkled face down to drop onto his withered hand.

Dastan shook his head, the pain of losing everything he cared for most pressing in around him. "No, father, no..."

"I loved you...more than my own blood," Sharaman whispered, innocent bewilderment in his voice.

The desperate desire Dastan had harboured to clear his name grew lost in the confused storm of emotions and he found himself struck dumb as his father faded in front of his very eyes, dispersing like so much sand into the ether. Frozen, the young prince could do nothing but watch while silently his heart was breaking.

Dastan's eyes snapped open, his heart pounding in his chest and his breath coming in uncontrollable pants. He blinked in the darkness around him. Something was pressed against his face and it quickly registered in his mind that his arms were pinioned to his sides. All the while, he was being jostled in the unmistakable motion of an animal moving. A tiny fraction of light seemed to coming from above his head and the musty smell close to his nose smelt like old incense and...dog? The prince wriggled to get the measure of his strange prison and found that he could move his hands a reasonable degree. He pushed the coarse fabric hard with his elbows and was pleased to discover that it sagged a little. He worked the carpet as loose as he could manage and finally got his shoulders free, easing himself into the open air.

Looking around him, Dastan's memories came flooding back to him, Nizam, the hassansin who had drugged him, and now...what appeared to be a desert tour. He was indeed rolled up in a carpet wedged securely between a camel's humps and, fortunately, the hassansin did not seem too preoccupied with his charge at the moment. Dastan tried to pull his upper body free of the carpet but it did not budge. He quickly considered his options – unarmed in the middle of the desert, against one of the deadliest assassin groups in the world. Perhaps he should just go back to sleep. On the other hand, he had the element of surprise now and the hassansin could only have a murkier plan for the prince if he left his escape to the last minute.

The horse was maintaining a steady pace, as fast as it could go with a camel behind. If Dastan could wriggle the carpet off the animal's back, he stood a tiny chance of the hassansin not noticing until he was far enough away. Not knowing how far he was from civilisation and with no water, Dastan knew he was taking a chance, but he would rather face the elements than the knives and whips of his captor. Rocking his body, he dislodged the carpet from the camel's back and dropped to the desert floor where he instantly unravelled himself.

For a moment, Dastan thought he had taken the hassansin unawares but the camel gave a grunt of surprise at the discharge of its load and sped up. The young prince did not wait to see how long it took for his captor to realise he was gone. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him towards the dunes behind them. Dastan had forgotten the injuries to his neck and he tried to breathe through the burn in his throat but, with each passing step, the discomfort increased until he saw grey dots dancing in front of his eyes.

Knowing that he could go no further, Dastan cast a glance back in the direction of the hassansin and cursed as he realised the man had already caught sight of him and was charging back towards him. The prince was resourceful and he knew his options were limited. If he could just unsaddle the assassin, he would have the advantage. A firm spur to the animal's flanks and Dastan would be home free. He turned to face his opponent, every muscle poised for action.

The hassansin charged at him, the camel's lead rein severed where the animal settled, blissfully ignorant of the fight going on around it. Dastan waited until the man was upon him, anticipating the downward slice of the man's scimitar, ducking beneath the blade within a hair's breadth. Grasping the horse's girth strap in both hands, the prince swung himself under the animal's body. He heard the assassin yell in angry indignation as he sliced uselessly at the air either side of his steed, without meeting his mark. Despite the extreme discomfort of the position, Dastan held fast, tormenting his opponent until the horse was sharply reigned in and the hassansin leapt from the beast's back with a war cry. Dastan dropped to the ground with as much grace as a cat , landing on his feet, arms outstretched as if expecting to ward off the blows with his bare hands. Wherever the hassansin swiped, the prince deftly side stepped, finally managing to place a humiliating blow to the back of the man's head with a well aimed elbow.

His aggressor fell forward and the young man managed to kick away the scimitar from the hassansin's grasping hand, picking it up. Dastan's throat stung and he swallowed painfully as he took a second to catch his breath. He prepared to finish the hassansin off but the trainer killer was not so easily vanquished and was already finding his feet. Dastan watched in horror as the man's hand withdrew from the folds of his dark robes to reveal dozens of sharp throwing blades, carefully placed in sequence from large to small on a roll of leather.

Dastan was never afraid to take on a challenge but he was no fool either. Already weakened by his erratic breathing and the diminishing after effects of being drugged, not to mention dehydration, he knew when to turn his back on a fight. Besides, no sword could match flying blades. There was only one option left open to him – run. The young prince made a false move towards the hassansin before quickly altering path and running for the horse, knowing it to be his only passage out of the desert. Dastan heard the grim sound of something whistling past his ear and instinctively pushed himself into a rising somersault, hoping to cut such an erratic path that the hassansin's blades could not find their target.

The Persian hazarded a glance behind him and saw that the assassin had not made a single step in pursuit of him. Dastan knew the man's aim was good but his own self belief spurred him to believe that he was almost home free. Just as his hand touched the horse's bridle, Dastan felt the wind knocked from him followed by immense pressure between his ribs. Within seconds, the pressure built into shattering pain. Looking down in shock, the prince saw the glint of metal jutting from his side. His hand went to the injury but he withdrew it with a hiss of pain when he knocked the first blade and his fingers brushed against a second, then a third.

Refusing to be easy prey and still determined to save himself, Dastan forced himself onwards, roaring in agony as he dragged himself up into the saddle. He could see the hassansin moving in for the kill and gave the horse's flanks a hard kick with his heel. Sending a silent prayer to the heavens, he spurred the horse forwards. He had not gone more than a couple of metres before another of the assassin's blades met its mark, catching the prince in the thigh. Dastan winced in pain, a moan escaping his lips. The horse, suddenly without urgent direction, calmed and slowed its pace. The prince did not notice at first, not until the lash of his aggressor's dreaded spiked whip licked through the air as the hassansin closed in on him. The needle like protrusions lashed out at him, piercing the thin fabric of his shirt as easily as a moth's wings, and sinking into the tender flesh of his back. Dastan roared in pain as the horse's forward movement contradicted the sharp backwards tug of the whip embedded in his back. Involuntarily releasing the reigns, the prince fumbled clumsily behind him, desperately trying to remove the weapon. He need not have bothered as the hassansin's delicate wrist action tore it unceremoniously from his skin, mutilating muscle and scraping bone.

The world tilted sickeningly in front of the young Persian as he fought unconsciousness, frantically trying to hold on long enough to get himself to safety. But the hassansin was relentless and the second crack of the whip found the same target once more, this time bringing even more pain as the spikes sank into already open flesh, this time wrapping around his torso and yanking him from the horse's back.

Hitting the ground with such force took Dastan's breath away and the paralysing pain left him vulnerable to the hassansin. He lay helplessly on the scorching desert sand, feeling hot grains pressing into the wounds on his back and the now throbbing pain of the blades protruding from his side and thigh. He stared blankly up at the bright sun until the dark shadow of his murderer blocked it, peering down at him like a child might look upon an ant before crushing it. Dastan spat in the kneeling man's face, the action taking the last of his defiance. "Finish me. There is nothing more you can take," the young man spoke, his voice hoarse and cracked with fatigue and emotion. "May I be reunited with Father in death."

The hassansin peered down at the injured man, his face expressionless. "You are not destined to die at my hand, Prince Dastan of Persia." Pulling a rag from within his robes, he doused it with a pungent smelling potion and pressed it to Dastan's nose and mouth. At first the prince fought, his hands clawing at the strong arm, but his efforts were in vain. Within moments, the drug had taken effect and the prince's hands dropped limply to the sand. The hassansin collected his horse and camel before pulling the Persian to his feet and securing him with rope to the camel's back. No one would venture out this far into the desert so late at night so there was no need for the secrecy of the carpet any longer. The assassin could only hope that his promise would be fulfilled – Dastan must die at the hands of nature. He must not die yet.

* * *

Even when she knew how keen Tus was to set out, Tamina had to control her temper as she waited for him to make all sorts of clandestine arrangements with his immediate household staff. As newly crowned king, he could barely take a leak without someone asking him what he was doing or if he needed assistance. Finally, the young prince donned peasant garb and drew his scarf up to cover his face and the pair slipped to the outer curtain of city buildings. Tus managed to free a couple of horses, both of good calibre but not impressive enough to draw unwanted attention.

The two monarchs had almost reached the city gates when a voice sailed out to them, causing them both to freeze in consternation. "Stop right there!" Tus darted a horrified look at Tamina before turning back to the man stepping out of the shadows behind them. The youthful face did not match the firm, gruff voice, the young soldier's eyes wide with shock. "Sire?...I mean, sire," he repeated more humbly, bowing low in dutiful respect.

Tus wracked his brains to try and remember the man's name. "You did not see me," he instructed, levelling a warning gaze at the wide blue eyes staring back at him.

The soldier began to nod, knowing that whatever his king asked of him, he must obey. Then, common sense belatedly kicked in. "But sire...how long will you be gone? Where are you going?" His eyes flicked suspiciously towards Princess Tamina. "What will I tell the others in the morning?"

Tus looked to Tamina, who remained rooted speechlessly to the spot, then back at the armed man. "You will tell them nothing because you will know nothing. Do you understand me? This is private business."

"Yes, sire," the soldier replied dully.

The king disliked having to take such a grim tone with someone who, on any other day, would be rewarded for his stoicism. But he had no other choice – Dastan's life depended on them leaving immediately without Nizam's interference. He continued to fix the young man with a steely stare until the soldier stood aside for the two cloaked figures. Tus forced a smile of reconciliation to his lips. "I will see that you are rewarded for your loyalty and integrity when I return. Your name, boy?"

"Samin, your Highness," the boy said, bowing low again.

"May the gods grant you good fortune, Samin. You are owed the debt of a king." Tus flashed a grin at the serious, half terrified boy before him. Finally, Samin smiled back, seeming to relax a little. Convinced that he had the soldier's confidence, Tus urged his horse through the gate, motioning for Tamina to follow. He was grateful that the princess had wisely chosen to remain silent throughout the exchange, instead of berating a mere foot soldier for insubordination as he imagined she might ordinarily do.

Instead, when they were clear of the walls and he looked back at the princess' face, Tus noticed a tightness to her features which had not been there before. "Princess? What troubles you?"

"That boy might have been convinced by your smooth, commanding words but..."

"But what?" Tus prompted.

"But come morning, the pressure on him will be too immense. Every man in the city will be looking for you and the soldiers guarding the gates will be the first to take the heat." Tamina looked at the king's unshaken expression. "They might catch up with us...thwart our mission before we have a chance to find Dastan."

Tus nodded, recognising the fear in her, but knowing there was nothing he could say to console her. "Then we must get as far away from here as possible before they realise we are gone." He dug his heels into the horse's side and set their course east from the city gates.

* * *

The first sensation Dastan felt was a thirst like he had never experienced before. It hit him before he even knew where he was. His throat was filled with sand and he could feel its rawness as he tried to swallow. His cheek moved against something rough and hard and his head pounded unrelentingly. The prince cracked open his eyes, slowly setting the world to rights around him. He was lying face down on the sand. The whiteness of the daylight told him it must be noon or thereabouts – definitely not the time to be lying out in the desert. Dastan winced as he attempted to lever himself up off the ground, his wounds protesting against any movement. Grimacing through the pain, he paused and looked around him.

He optimistically replayed the last moments he remembered, wondering if he had managed to defeat the hassansin before passing out. Glancing about, Dastan was momentarily grateful to find himself alone. Then, being alone started to become a problem. As a prisoner of the hassansin, he had known his enemy and what he was up against. Now, his enemy was all around him – the desert. Dastan had no idea where he was and, while he had a minor sense of direction from the position of the sun in the sky, the prince felt his relief ebbing away with each passing second.

The prince tried to push his body up into a standing position, squeezing his eyes shut against the agonising pain lancing through his side as he did so. Dastan struggled to remain on his feet with one leg injured and his head spinning violently. Gingerly, he pulled at the fabric around the wounds in his side for a better look. The material was wet with congealing blood and he could already tell the holes were deep, even if they had not pierced any vital organs. The young Persian had seen enough casualties of war to know the odds were against him. A vision of a young man, little older than himself, appeared in Dastan's head. He had taken a sword to the gut but the wound had not seemed too perilous. When they had first set out for home, the man had seemed bright and alert. By the time they made first camp he was ashen and, to the prince's shock, infection quickly took hold and the man passed away before ever seeing the minarets of Nasaf again. The memory made Dastan shudder. He did not want a desert grave with no one to mourn his passing.

Fumbling with the material of his scarf, he made a makeshift tourniquet and tightened it around his chest. He tore some off for positioning around his thigh and carefully tested his weight on the injured leg. Dastan could not contain the cry that was dragged from his throat as he did so. A trickle of blood issued from the spike wound and tracked a warm path down the inside of his thigh. Looking desperately around him, the prince tried to keep calm as the reality of his demise fully dawned on him. He could not walk, had festering wounds in his side, leg and back, had no water and nothing more than the sun to orient himself with. Men had died in the desert on less.

His back throbbed and every movement brought renewed pain. Dastan could feel cake blood gluing his shirt to his skin but he had no way of accessing the wounds. Besides, what did he have to treat them with? More likely he would tear the skin further trying to remove his shirt and present an even greater risk of infection. Hobbling forwards, Dastan started walking, his paces as slow, short and measured as an old beggar's. He did not know which direction he headed but could only pray that the gods would be merciful and deliver him to civilisation.

END OF PART 2 - Sorry it was a short one!


	3. Chapter 3

KILLING TIME – PART 3

By Allegra

See Part 1 for disclaimers.

As mentioned in my revision of Part 2, I am sooooo sorry to Arcadia Pendragon for removing Garsiv again. I will make sure I do a brotherly story with all 3 of them next!

Umm, this chapter was hell to produce so I hope it reads better than it wrote! But most of all, please, please feed the muse with a review, even a tiny weeny one-worder! Thank you.

* * *

Tus and Tamina had galloped as if their very lives depended on it, forcing their horses onwards with relentless fervour. Night had slid into day, the heat rising and then waning as dusk moved across the horizon once more. As their shadows lengthened on the sand, even Tus had to concede that it was time to stop and rest. They had ridden long and hard, hopefully matching the distance any hell-bent assassin could make in the same time. Both riders were still fuelled by adrenaline but their horses were not and fresh animals would be few and far between out here in the remote desert parts. If they were to find Dastan, they would need to rest and stock up on water or risk finding themselves walking the rest of the way, which would be no use whatsoever.

Steering themselves slightly off course in order to find an outpost, Tamina was relieved to see a small bevy of tents flapping in the breeze ahead of them, fires already burning brightly around the little settlement. The princess turned to Tus, catching his frown in the waning light. She understood his concerns – riding into a strange camp always brought questions and watchful eyes. As a royal, it was a dangerous move even when it was necessary. Tus would have been well versed in 'fitting in' but she recognised the anxiety that came with knowing one word out of place or a stamp of the royal household anywhere about one's person could bring heinous repercussions. If the men were cowards, chances are they would murder the strangers for whatever riches they could find. If they were men of guile, they would hold the king to ransom and then kill him anyway. At least Dastan and Tus would be reunited in the next life.

Approaching the camp, Tamina took in the rabble of misfits crowded round the fire. They were sharing a pipe and did not seem too wary of the two strangers approaching, their faces round and laughing. "And who do we have here?" asked a turbaned man who drew himself up to his full, impressive height. "You do not look like travellers," he asserted, narrowing his eyes shrewdly.

"And what do travellers look like?" Tus asked, immediately biting back the testy tone in his voice. "For that is what we are, I assure you."

"Then I must take your word for it. Do you wish to bargain for a place at our hearth?" The other men watched silently with interest.

Tus nodded, "I have little to offer but do not ask to stay long..."

"No more than a few hours, just time to rest the horses," Tamina interjected. Tus was unaccustomed to being interrupted by a woman and hoped that having a female in their presence did not bring out the lewd behaviour so easily aroused in such a male environment. Defending the princess's honour would only lead to violence, in which Tus hoped to be the victor but could not be sure, and would most certainly slow their journey down as they covered up their tracks.

The tall man's eyes flicked from Tus to Tamina and back again, measuring up their relationship. "Are you two eloping?"

Tus stepped forwards and produced a modest bag of coins. While it did not give him away as a man of considerable wealth, it would definitely be enough to gain the group's acceptance without further questions. "Some water and warmth is all we ask of you. With gratitude, let our business be our own."

The man felt the weight of the purse in his leathery hand and, pleased with what he found, nodded and gestured to the fire. "Make room for two more, boys. I will water the horses."

Tus and Tamina sat down awkwardly between two wizened old men who looked as if they had seen a hundred suns and partook of the wine which was generously passed in their direction. Tus could not help but notice the warm heat of the princess's body pressed closely to his and he could almost feel the tense tremble of her muscles beneath the cloak she had drawn protectively around her. He recalled their first meeting, the fierce defiance in Tamina's eyes and her cutting words, enough to match the most experienced wordsmith. She was a fine specimen of a woman and a challenge even to a king such as himself, with the entire kingdom at his feet. But, with strands of her jasmine scented hair blowing lazily across his face and the milky white flesh of her neck exposed above the cloak's clasp, Tus was reminded that she was nothing more than a slip of a girl beneath the tough exterior. She had honed an aura of lofty disenchantment out of necessity, a survival technique to warn men who would seek to take advantage, but it was a disguise. Now, alone together, united in their affection for Dastan, Tamina had softened and let her guard down. Perhaps unconsciously, she no longer defied Tus at every turn and now, huddled around the fire, she seemed to crave his protection.

Recognising his weakness for the princess growing, Tus forced his mind to divert itself. He could allow himself to become enchanted by her when there was work to be done. He needed to remain sharp and alert, ready for action. Clearing his throat, he placed a gentle hand on the princess's shoulder, feeling her jump minutely beneath his fingers. She fixed him with a challenging gaze and Tus smiled reassuringly. "Why don't you get some rest? I will keep watch."

Tamina opened her mouth to protest but she could not deny the fatigue spreading throughout her limbs and threatening to send her drifting off mid-ride. "Do not let me sleep for long," she instructed.

"I will not," Tus assured her as she lay her head down on a saddle bag and plumped it into a makeshift pillow. Closing her eyes, Tamina tried to imagine herself back at home in her own bed instead of surrounded by the prying eyes of strange men. She drew her cloak tightly around her small frame and turned her back to the fire.

Gazing into the curling flames, Tus listened to the idle chatter of the travellers, telling fanciful tales of battles they had fought in and extravagant palaces they had seen. Tus knew most of them to be lies but they were harmless enough, the dreams that poor men live upon and nothing more. As tendrils of smoke rose into the night breeze, Tus' mind wandered into the shadows of his own dreams. He saw Dastan's face, blue eyes filled with a fear the young king had never seen before. His brother's face bore signs of injury, a trickle of blood tracking a slow path down his temple. Dastan's lips were moving silently, seeming to repeat the same words over and over. No matter how hard he concentrated, Tus could not make them out. He called out but his brother did not hear him, they simply echoed in his own head. Dastan's face was pale, eyes shining with a feverish glow and Tus reached out to touch him, to bring him close. But, the harder he reached for him, the more distant his little brother became. Shadows spread into dark creases around Dastan's receding form, dark tendrils choking him until he was lost from view.

Tus' eyes snapped open and he looked warily around him at the faces of the other men. No one seemed to be giving him sideways glances and he realised he must have dozed off for a moment. Wiping a hand across his prickling eyes, Tus looked towards the princess, reassuring himself that she was safe and still peacefully asleep. Shaken by what he had seen, the king could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He could not afford to doze off again. He had been lucky that these men had not sought the opportunity to slit his throat and rape Tamina, or worse.

Standing up, the king stretched and wandered over to where the horses were tied up. They looked much happier now, with their soft noses nuzzling in a feed bag and a pail of water set firmly between them. Tus ran a firm hand along the flank of one of them, relishing the polished velvet of the animal's coat. The horse lifted his head and gently nudged his master's shoulder good naturedly before going back for more food. Rattled by his dream, Tus could not shake the image imprinted on his brain of Dastan. He had never seen his brother so desperate and afraid. Having survived as an orphan on the streets of Nasaf for the early years of his life, Dastan had learned tricks and wiles that meant Tus rarely saw him bested. The young king prayed the dream was not a prophetic one – he had to see his little brother again, to tell him how sorry he was for ever doubting him and to beg his forgiveness.

Feeling a chill wind at his back, Tus turned back to the campfire to wait out the next few hours before he could ride out again.

* * *

The heat that had rained down on Dastan's head gave way to a cold just as intense and the thin clothes he had been wearing upon capture provided the prince with little protection against the elements. Shivers wracked his body and his teeth chattered uncontrollably but still he pushed himself on. At times, his mind detached itself from the torment of trying to shuffle his wounded leg forwards and the pain that stabbed him to the core with each step. Dastan would drift off somewhere without feeling, his mind numbed beyond any kind of coherent thought. Then, a stumble or sharp jolt of pain would rouse him suddenly back into the real world and he would look around the endless lines of undulating dunes, completely at a loss as to which way he should go next. He had long since lost touch with the sun's compass and it was only deep rooted self preservation that propelled him onwards.

He was absently aware of the continuous trickle of blood still oozing from his thigh. While he knew there was nothing he could do beyond the self-fashioned tourniquet he had made, Dastan worried that any wound still bleeding so long after the attack was not a good sign. The view to the horizon did not seem to have changed for a long time, almost as if he were treading water, and the young prince felt his resolve weaken. What exactly was he returning to anyway? A family that had turned their back on him, a life spent on the run? No, there was nothing to look forward to. Hell, someone he had once called uncle had commissioned a hassansin to destroy him, his memory tarnished beyond repair. Was this truly the gods' plan for him? Had they set him up with a new family, with people who had shown a love he had never dared to believe existed before, only to tear it away from him? Perhaps this final abandonment in the wilderness was the last lesson he was supposed to learn before this life was finally done with him.

Losing his footing on the shifting sand, Dastan fell hard onto his side. For a moment, everything faded to black and the prince was surrounded only by excruciating, all encompassing pain. He could do no more than simply lie there, his hands pressed tightly against the wound's entrance, waiting for the agony to subside. Dastan panted hard, his body trying to draw in enough breath to defy unconsciousness that threatened to take him under. He squeezed his eyes shut as he rolled gingerly to his good side and struggled to pull himself up into a sitting position. There he paused, breathless and weak, unable to find the will power or the strength to go on any further. Visions of his home swam before his eyes, visions of Tus and Garsiv, of Sharaman. They were smiling at him, playful and full of love. Dastan swallowed back a lump in his throat, willing away the tears that prickled behind his eyes. He was dead to them. Very soon he would be dead to the world. But he was damned if he would take his fate lying down.

Staggering to his feet, Dastan pulled his head scarf up over his head and drunkenly weaved his way up the next dune.

* * *

"Princess," Tus urged, gently. "The horses are rested, dawn is breaking. We must take to the road." Tamina blinked sleep away and sat up abruptly.

"How long have I been sleeping?" she asked, suddenly anxious that she had slowed their progress.

"Not long, a couple of hours," Tus said. "Are you ready? Aron has prepared a hearty meal for us all before we set out."

Tamina raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Do you trust him not to poison us?"

Tus smiled at her mistrust of everyone. "They have been eating from the same pot. It would be clever indeed if they managed to poison us without harming themselves, too. Come," he gestured to where the fire had burnt itself down and a pot was positioned over it. Tamina had to admit that the smell was tantalising and her stomach was making its emptiness known.

After the princess had eaten her fill, the pair thanked their hosts and set their course once more. The short rest and generous portions of food had made the princess feel more human again and she hoped Tus was reasonable refreshed, despite not getting any sleep.

For several hours they rode, sometimes in silence, other times in conversation about the corners of the empire or prestigious hosts they had dined with. It was strange to Tamina how quickly she had warmed to Tus after the pillage of her city. Although he had always been kind to her, within reason, she had vowed never to take him into her confidence or allow him to see her happy. Yet, Dastan had united them and Tamina found herself grateful for Tus' understanding and protection.

The princess was so lost in her ruminations over what the future might hold should her alliance with Tus be made official, that she almost overlooked the slight blot on the landscape to the left of them. Pulling her horse to a stand still, Tamina narrowed her eyes. "What's that?" she asked, half to herself. Tus reined his horse in beside hers and followed her gaze.

"Over there!" Tamina shouted, pointing towards an almost indecipherable shadow on a dune ahead. Tus followed her finger and the pair spurred their horses onwards. As they neared the dune, the dim outline of a body came into view and Tus felt his heart rise into his throat. He had set out from the palace full of gung-ho determination to find his wronged brother and return him safely to a hero's welcome. What the young king had not considered was what exactly might have befallen Dastan and whether there would even be anything to bring home.

Tamina was dismounting from her horse before the animal had even ground to a halt and she skidded to the ground beside the fallen prince. "Dastan!" she called in vain. The body was sheathed in a fine layer of white sand, almost obscuring him, as the princess gently turned him onto his back. She choked back a gasp when she pulled back Dastan's head scarf. It was like staring into the face of death itself.

Tus landed at her side and Tamina glanced at him with tears glistening in her eyes. "I fear we are too late," she murmured, gently stroking a shaking hand through Dastan's dark hair. "Oh, Dastan," she whispered.

Tus pressed two fingers calmly to his brother's throat, waiting with bated breath for the sign of life he feared would not come. At first, there seemed to be nothing but, with a slight shift of his fingertips, the king felt the fading pulse of Dastan's beating heart. "He lives," Tus said quietly, hardly daring himself to speak the words with more conviction.

"What?" Tamina asked, incredulously. "Are you sure?"

Tus continued to monitor the beating for a moment longer before nodding, an unbidden smile springing to his lips. "For now." He looked down tenderly at Dastan, taking in the ashen face beneath the dirt and sand particles, dark lashes closed against the taut curve of his cheeks. Perhaps only once before in his life had Tus ever seen his brother so vulnerable, and that had been when they were mere boys, shortly after Dastan had come from a life of poverty to live in the royal household. Dastan had been found by their uncle, Nazim, crying in a corner of the olive grove. It had defied all logic to a young Tus at the time, but he was told that the urchin was having trouble adjusting to his new life, that he was mourning the passing of his old life. Tus had snorted at such a notion – how could Dastan be surrounded by so many riches and pleasures at the click of his fingers and miss the dangerous streets of Nasaf with their cut-throats and foul smelling sewers?

Tus had followed his uncle as the older man had scooped an exhausted Dastan up in his arms and carried him back to his own chambers, where he sat and watched the young boy sleep. But those had been happier times, when the prince knew nothing worse than exhaustion and the beatings of a merchant he tried to steal from. Never before had Dastan flown so close to the face of death as he soared now. It sent icy tendrils of terror through Tus' body to find himself so close to losing another brother. As if it were not pain enough to bury Garsiv, now that Dastan was restored to him, Tus would not let him die.

"Then we are not too late?" Tamina asked, anxiously.

Tus shook his head, "He is weak. We must pray that the gods show mercy." His eyes drifted over his brother's body, taking in the torn clothes and blood stains, some dry and others still moist. "There is more damage than exposure to this heat, but we need to be somewhere safe with water and shade. Help me," he motioned to Dastan's back. As the king pulled the prince up by his arms, Tamina slid behind his back as Tus gently eased Dastan back onto her. Tamina cradled him against her, not caring that she was showing more care than was proper for her station. Tus fumbled with his water skin and brought the rim of it to Dastan's parched lips. He tried to pour a little of the cool water into his mouth but it trickled uselessly down the prince's chin and Dastan gave no sign that he was even trying to swallow. "Come on, little brother," Tus murmured encouragingly. Looking up in concern at Tamina, Tus corked the skin and bundled Dastan close to his chest. As he shifted his brother's weight towards him, Tamina looked down at her own clothes, now stained with blood. The pair looked at each other, aghast, and Tus hugged Dastan close against him, peering over his shoulder to get a better look at his brother's back. Tamina lifted Dastan's shirt to reveal deep tears in the flesh of his back. Each cut was set about two inches apart from the next, some deeper than others and they ran in two clear rows. Scrapes ran between each slice as if something had been dragged across the prince's back.

"We cannot tend to him here," Tus repeated. "Bring my horse," the king urged, refusing to meet Tamina's terrified gaze. He lifted his brother's body up over his shoulder, catching his familiar musky scent beneath the smell of sweat and leather. "Stay with me, little brother," he murmured.

For a second, Tus staggered, but it was not his brother's weight that caused him to stumble. To his surprise, it was the unbidden wave of emotions that hit him as he considered the true reality of losing Dastan forever. He had mourned Garsiv, had seen his body given a prince's burial. It had left him with a growing pit in his stomach, like losing a part of you that can never be restored. But, Tus was still numb from the appalling spectacle of his father's death and Garsiv had followed suit so quickly. The king had barely digested the enormity of his loss.

But, losing Dastan was different somehow. It brought a new kind of sorrow that the king had no understanding of, something rooted in childhood vulnerability. Tus found that he could not accept the loss of his adopted brother like a king, not even like a man. It struck him to the deepest core of his being. Dastan's passing would never be made right by a royal funeral for he was a child of the nature, wild and free spirited. Every childhood memory flooded Tus' mind, moments of brotherhood, hatred, shared jester antics and solidarity against their father or a tutor. Dastan could not die, of that Tus was certain. He would not lose his brother today, or may the gods tremble in fear of the terrible revenge this king would wreak.

With the horse standing obediently, Tamina and Tus carefully manoeuvred Dastan's limp body onto the animal's back. It took some pushing and pulling before the pair was satisfied that the injured prince was not going to slip off. Dastan's head lolled forwards against the horse's neck, his dry lips parted as he drew in what little air his body was still able to pump. Tamina dared not hope for a miracle when the prince looked so far from redemption.

Tus drew a map from the folds of his riding cloak and set it before him. "We stand a better chance continuing in that direction," he said, pointing ahead. He quickly hauled himself up into the saddle behind his brother and pulled Dastan against his chest, feeling the prince's head roll listlessly and his heated forehead pressed against Tus' neck. He clung on to his younger brother as if his own life depended on it, his fingers moving across Dastan's torso as he held him firmly. Grimly, the king felt something hard and sharp as his hand crossed his brother's side. Shifting aside the fabric of Dastan's jameh, Tus saw the cruel torture of glinting metal emerging from angry, enflamed flesh. Cursing under his breath, Tus looked up at the princess but quickly made a decision not to tell Tamina, knowing it would be worse to try and remove the offensive object in the open desert and she would only worry futilely.

Kicking the horse into motion behind the princess, he held Dastan tightly as if hoping to pass on some of his own vitality. His brother's hand trailed limply against Tus' leg, the knuckles bloody from fighting. Tus frowned in suspicion, his mind working over the possible scenarios that might have led Dastan to this end, all of them equally dreadful.

* * *

The desert stretched infinitely out ahead of them and the horses couldn't race across it quickly enough for the king's taste. Dastan's life was hanging by a thread and Tus hardly dared face the possibility that his rescue mission had come too late. Since their direction no longer mattered, the urgent need for water and shade more pressing, the pair only rode for a couple of hours before a small settlement came into view.

As they approached the encampment, Tamina dismounted and led her horse towards the band of turbaned men who had formed an ominous line ahead of her. "We are seeking water and shelter for an injured soldier." She knew it was unlikely that news of Dastan's treachery had spread so far so fast but she wanted to maintain a low profile in case. "That depends on the price, my lady," one of the men said, his eyes wandering lustily over Tamina's body.

"Leave her be," came a frail bark from behind him. Tamina watched as an elderly woman, bent and gnarled as an ancient olive tree, moved towards the group. Unusually, the group of men parted for her in deference and the woman stepped close to Tamina. Her eyes shone with a glow too youthful for the wrinkled face they were set in. They flitted towards where Tus was still seated astride his horse, Dastan's inert body cradled against him. "Where have you come from?"

"We have been searching far and wide for our comrade. We heard he had been injured and left for dead. I could not tell you the names of half the places we have passed through."

Tamina could not hide the urgency in her tone and the old woman nodded her head in understanding. "You love him," she asserted, confidently. Tamina opened her mouth to speak but found herself at a loss for words. Surely a half blind vagrant could not tell such a thing from such a small exchange of words, but if it helped her find sanctuary for Dastan, she was happy to live with the assumption. "I have a tent you can use. Follow me." The old woman beckoned to Tamina, who shot a wary glance back at the group of men around her. The woman seemed to catch the gesture and waved her hand nonchalantly. "Oh, do not fret about these lugs. They are just passing through, regulars you could say. It is only me you need to appease," she laughed, showing toothless gum.

She led Tamina to a tent on the outskirts of the encampment. Expecting the worst, Tamina poked her head around the fabric door and was surprise to see that there were animal skins and colourful rugs on the floor, a haphazard collection of lanterns strung up against the central tent pole. An assortment of bowls and water skins sat in a pile on the far side, looking mostly like they needed a good wash and nothing more. "There's a small river to the north, no more than a few hundred yards," the woman added.

Tamina turned to her and offered her warmest smile. "Thank you for your hospitality. You will paid. But we might need to stay here for a few days," the princess said, hopefully.

"Oh, stay as long as you need, my dear. Most travellers do not stop for long. No one will have need of this place. I am just across the way, should you need me," the woman smiled again and ducked out of the tent, bracing her aching back as she did so.

Tamina immediately returned to Tus, gently helping him as he released Dastan into her arms. The prince's weight flopped against her and she almost lost her footing with the impact but, in an instant, Tus was at her side. He pulled Dastan by the wrists over his shoulder and followed the princess to the tent. It was hot inside but the relief from being under the glaring sun was enough.

Tamina set about piling blankets, rugs and skins into some kind of semblance of a bed before Tus set his brother down. He carefully arranged Dastan's limbs, stretching his legs out and ensuring his neck was in a comfortable position. As he did so, the king felt wetness on his hand and he looked down in horror to see a swipe of blood across his palm. "Princess..." he called.

Following his gaze, Tamina swallowed hard. "Are you hurt, too?"

"It is not my blood," he replied, grimly. His hands moved to Dastan's leg, where blood glistened against the fabric of his shalvar. Retrieving a small, sharp knife from his boot, Tus carefully tore at the cloth until there was a large hole. "We need water. There is too much blood here." He felt Tamina move from his side and heard her shuffling in the corner with the bowls then leave the tent. "Oh, Dastan, what have they done to you?" the king murmured, looking to his brother's blank face. The young king pressed the flesh at the top of Dastan's thigh, watching for where thick blood oozed out of the leg. Wiping aside the worst of it, Tus saw the raw edges of another jagged wound, similar to the holes made by the blades he had yet to attend to in Dastan's side.

With gentle ministrations, Tus took an inventory of his brother's injuries. There were the deep lacerations to his back and, when the king tore Dastan's shalvar open across his chest, his heart sank when the wounds continued a path across the lower part of his rib cage. Tus counted four deep wounds, one in his brother's thigh and three to his left side. Once the fabric of Dastan's clothes had been removed, it was evident that the injuries were caused by a circular blade made from three curving talons joined in the centre. This was clear because two of them were still firmly embedded in the prince's body. Then, there was the neck wound. It looked to be slightly older than the other wounds, already somewhat scabbed over and healed. But the inflammation around Dastan's throat told Tus that whatever instrument of torture had been used had done considerable damage.

Tus tore as much of his brother's clothing from his broken body as he could without causing further injury and, by the time he had stripped Dastan's wounds, he heard Tamina's footsteps returning with water. He turned to her, trying to hide his own fear. "We will need fire. Some of these wounds must be cauterised."

Tamina looked shocked and her voice trembled when she spoke. "Is there no other way?"

Tus shook his head. "His leg has not stopped bleeding and there are blades still embedded in his side. When we take them out..." He stopped himself, seeing Tamina's face blanche. "Trust me. It is the best way to contain the bleeding and give him a chance to heal."

Wringing a cloth from the water, Tus gently set about cleaning the blood from around Dastan's thigh wound. The flesh was worryingly cool to the touch and the king felt like a boulder had been slammed into his stomach when he considered what he was going to have to do. "We must work fast," Tus whispered. "He is still bleeding."

Tamina nodded. She had placed a cold cloth across Dastan's neck, hoping to help the swelling abate. The young prince was so still and she found herself staring in horror at the injuries adorning his body. She could not bear the thought of him suffering through it alone, at the hands of a man whose sole goal was to murder for a price. Dastan had seemed so strong before, ready to take on any challenge. Now, he looked fragile and childlike.

The princess watched as Tus carefully removed the small dagger he carried from its sheath and stepped outside the tent to put it on the fire. As she wiped a second cloth carefully over the wounds on Dastan's chest, she heard a hitching breath as she touched a particularly deep wound. "Dastan?" she whispered, pressing a hand to his pale cheek. "Dastan, it is Tamina. Can you hear me?"

"Mmn," he mumbled, moving closer into her touch, as if seeking assurance in the warmth of her hand. For a moment he stilled and Tamina thought he might have succumbed to unconsciousness again. Then, as Tus re-entered the tent, Dastan stirred again, his mouth moving in incomprehensible, whispered words.

"Dastan?" Tus breathed, relief spreading across his face. The king skidded to a halt at his brother's side, taking the prince's hand within his own and rubbing warmth into it.

Dastan's eyes opened blearily, taking a moment to find the blurry source of the voice in his ear. His brain was dull from heat and blood loss and he struggled to piece together what had happened. He tried to move and was instantly engulfed in white hot pain, searing through every molecule of his body. A weak frown passed over his brow and he hissed in a breath, squeezing his eyes shut against the glare of light around him.

"Don't try to move," Tus instructed, his hands hovering over Dastan's body, unsure of where to touch him without causing further pain.

Dastan's mind floated as it moved through the pain, trying to make sense of it. He was breathing hard, struggling to draw in oxygen. It hurt every time his chest expanded and contracted, his throat burned with a relentless throb. As he forced himself to focus on something beyond the pain, finally images began to filter through, of a dark robed man with whips and knives, of betrayal...of Tus. "Tus?" he managed, his voice hoarse.

"I am here," Tus replied, smiling. "You are safe now. Rest."

Dastan fought against sleep to open his eyes once more, wearily seeking out the blob that declared itself to be his brother. "Tus? But you..."

"Sssh, that is all over now. You are restored to us." Tus pressed his palm to Dastan's forehead, smiling down at the dazed blue eyes that he never dared believe he would see again. Then, relief was swiftly replaced with the grim remembrance of what he had been about to do. Slowing his words to be sure Dastan understood, he gripped his brother's hand tightly. "Brother, you have lost a lot of blood. The wound is not healing... We must seal it shut."

At first, Dastan did not seem to register what his brother was saying. Then, slowly his own grip tightened a fraction in Tus' hand. "Do what you must..." he breathed, exhaustion emanating from every syllable. He watched with detachment as Tus stood and lifted the tent flap, returning moments later with the glowing metal of his dagger. Every ounce of resolve Dastan had mustered suddenly fell away and he felt nothing less than utter panic and fear as his brother moved towards him until he could feel the heat on his face.

END OF PART 3

Please let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

KILLING TIME

By Allegra

See Part 1 for disclaimers.

AUTHOR'S NOTE : I first posted this chapter back in 2010 as a rather half-hearted conclusion to the story. Then, recently, I had pangs of guilt and decided it was time for a bit of 'story surgery' where I try to mend all the wrongs I have done to my fiction! I was utterly ashamed of the way I cauterised this story, so I am re-posting it, with the last paragraph cut, to make way for another chapter. I hope that Part 5 does a little more justice to Dastan's healing process. Thank you to anyone who held on during the massacre of 'Killing Time'!

PART 4

Dastan's eyes followed the glowing knife as it moved towards his leg and he tried to lift his head to watch where Tus was going to place it. But, a firm, smooth hand pressed his forehead back to the ground and a foul smelling rag was jammed into his mouth like a gag. In his confusion, the prince struggled against this new intrusion but only managed a feeble grunt of protest before Tamina's face swam into his vision, her long hair brushing his forehead. "Sssh, be still, Dastan. We are not going to hurt you."

"I would not be so sure," Tus murmured before catching the princess's admonishing glare. Quickly changing tact, he glanced down at Dastan and added hastily, "All will be well, little brother. Trust me." It pained him to even so much as look at his adopted brother, knowing what he was about to inflict.

He gave Tamina a sharp nod and Dastan felt her hands move down over his arms, holding them firmly to his side, then a pain of unimaginable excruciation. It could have been little more than a few seconds but time seemed to slow and the prince could smell his own flesh burning in the confines of the small tent. He screamed through the cloth gag, his damaged throat pushing out a pitiful sound that was quickly lost along with Dastan's consciousness.

Tamina lowered her entire body weight onto the prince's thrashing arms and chest, trying to soothe him but knowing her words fell on deaf ears. Tus cursed loudly, finding his own release for the horror of melting his own brother's flesh and hearing the agony it caused.

Finally, the job was done and he sat back on his heels, panting with relief, his hand quivering with the sudden release of adrenaline. "There's a calming poultice in my pack then we must bind it to avoid infection."

The king purposely avoided Tamina's stare; he did not need to see her face to know the appalled expression he would find there. The job was not yet done, there was still a deep wound close to infection from another blade in Dastan's side. Tus could not afford to allow himself the luxury of emotion until the dirty work was over. "I must reheat the blade," he asserted, numbly, his gaze faltering as it slid over his brother's face.

Tus ducked out of the tent and jammed the knife back into the hot coals. He ran trembling fingers over his face, disgusted at his own weakness. He clenched his hands into fists, watching his knuckles whiten, as if trying to muster a courage he no longer possessed but still the tremors held. He swore into the flickering flames. He had cauterised wounds before, had even seen to a deep slice into Garsiv's arm two years ago. But Garsiv had struggled with all the fury of a bull in the ring and it had taken five men to hold him still as the deed was done. He had been vital, kicking and screaming all the way through then sitting up and knocking back several wine skins single-handedly before the hour was out. This time was different. It was Dastan's stillness that terrified Tus, knowing how close he was to losing him once and for all. "Stay strong, little brother," he whispered, the words barely travelling from his lips but the king knew they would find their mark.

Inside the tent, Tamina rummaged for the poultice and carefully unscrewed the lid as she leaned over Dastan's injured leg. The skin around the melted wound was hot to the touch and scorch marks blackened his flesh in places. The princess glanced up at Dastan's face, his features lax after so much torment. She hoped he had found somewhere safe to retreat to in his head until Tus had finished cauterising the other cut. Tentatively, Tamina ran a damp cloth over the area and, when the prince did not stir under her touch, she took advantage of his pain free state to do a more thorough job than might have been possible, were he awake.

Next, she wiped away what soot she could from the shiny, blackened skin on Dastan's thigh, scooped a liberal amount of the earthy smelling unguent and dabbed carefully around the inflamed red area. Satisfied that she had done her best, Tamina stood and tugged fervently at the hem of her shalvar, recognising that the white cloth was probably the cleanest material they had to hand. She made a mental note to boil up some more rags once they had finished with Dastan. The last thing they needed was to try and smuggle a naked princess back into the Nasaf or Alamut, with all her clothes bound around the prince as makeshift bandages! With a reasonable length of fabric wound around her hand, Tamina carefully set about binding Dastan's thigh.

As she ran the white cloth around his leg, Tamina listened to the laboured wheeze in Dastan's throat. Each breath seemed to take more effort than the last, his chest rising to a hitch then falling. They came in uneven strides, sometimes as harsh pants in quick succession and other times so far apart, Tamina feared him dead. Unaccustomed to dealing with injuries of any kind, the princess felt helpless as she wondered how she could help. The scratched barb marks adorning Dastan's throat like a ruby necklace had stopped bleeding some time ago and, apart from cleaning them and keeping infection out, there was little more to be done to alleviate his compromised breathing.

Tamina's mind slid back to the night Dastan had discovered the dagger's power, the memory of her calculated seduction. It had failed then and the princess had only cared about having her treasure restored to her by any means in her power but now...what she would give to have that moment again under different circumstances.

Despite their bickering and determination towards different goals, Tamina could not deny the growing attraction she felt towards the urchin prince and she knew in her heart he had been feeling it, too. It struck a knife deep into her heart to think that they might never express the feelings that were deepening in her even now. The Dastan lying before her was a fragile shadow of the vital man she had known mere hours ago. Tamina would have given the world to have the dagger back in her possession now. But this time, she would willingly give it to the prince if it could restore him. A tear slid down her cheek and Tamina swiped it away in shame as Tus returned to the tent.

"Move aside," he directed roughly, brandishing the glowing knife in front of him. "You must pull the blade out for me."

Tamina nodded, gulping back the urge to vomit. She quickly moved to where the spiked blade protruded from Dastan's side and waited for Tus' signal. With gritted teeth, the princess pulled at the blade but it would not move. Dastan's face contorted with the pain, even in the depths of unconsciousness. "It will not move!"

Tus covered her hand with his own and added a brutal force Tamina had not dared use herself. With a sucking sound, the offending object burst from Dastan's side, blood sluicing across the pair's fingers. Tus pushed Tamina unceremoniously aside and pressed the still glowing knife edge to the wound. Dastan gasped, his breath coming in sharp pants and his head lolled from side to side as his limbs weakly tried to deflect this sudden source of pain.

The princess moved to calm him, gently taking his face in her hands. She carefully removed the rag from his mouth, satisfied that he was no longer in danger of splitting his tongue in two with the pain of endurance. "Ssssh, Dastan, be still. Ssssh." At first, he resisted her touch, fevered words of nonsense escaping from cracked lips until, with calm coaxing, Tamina managed to settle him and Dastan stilled once more.

Tus had set aside the knife and was probing the last of his brother's more serious wounds. "This blade is not so deep. I think stitches will suffice, it has pierced skin and muscle but has not endangered his organs." He spoke more to himself than Tamina as he rummaged in his pack, knowing there were rudimentary medical supplies buried at the bottom. His hand found the coarse thread with a needle jabbed into the reel for ease of access. The king pressed Dastan's side where the last blade was embedded and glanced at his brother's face as he worked the metal towards him.

The young prince continued to mumble unintelligibly, only gasping in a sudden breath when Tus fought to free the metal from his skin. The size of the blade made it almost impossible to remove without slitting Dastan's flesh open further but Tus made quick work of it. No sooner was the metal free than the king stuffed a cloth against the wound, soaking up the sudden rush of blood that slid down Dastan's side and onto the mat.

Tamina wrung a second cloth out in the fresh water and folded it carefully across the injured prince's forehead where sweat beaded and trickled down his temples in fevered rivulets. "Let me stitch. I have had plenty of practice," she said, a small smile reaching her lips.

Without complaint, Tus moved aside, handing her the needle and thread. At first, he busied himself binding Dastan's leg and spreading some of the healing ointment on his little brother's more superficial wounds. Then, he found himself watching Tamina sew. So intent was she on her task that she did not feel the heat of his scrutinising gaze at first. At first, she was too busy fighting disgust at piercing Dastan's skin over and over with a needle, pulling flesh to meet flesh tightly but without puckering. It was a horrific butcher's task and Tamina hardly felt her embroidery skills had prepared her adequately for it but she was loathe to back down now that the offer had been made.

Slowly, disgust turned to focused concentration and Tamina grew more concerned with keeping her stitches small and neat, hoping they would not leave Dastan with too great a scar. Finally, nearly completed, the princess glanced up to see Tus' unwavering stare upon her and she felt herself blush. His eyes watched her every move with a strange intensity and a glint from the small lamp which sat between them.

Caught red-handed, Tus cleared his throat and ran his hands through his tangled hair. "You have made a good job. Dastan will hardly bear a scar."

"That was the intention," Tamina replied, looking up at Dastan's face. "He is hot to the touch. I fear a fever is coming on."

Tus followed her gaze to Dastan's still face tilted towards him, dark lashes veiling hollowed cheeks, parched lips parted. "He has lost a great deal of blood...I fear a fever is inevitable. We must give him as much fluid as he can take." Tus pressed two fingers to his little brother's throat and watched carefully for a minute. "His heart beats are diminished, without enough blood to push around his body."

"Sor...fath..." Dastan's voice came in a whisper, struggling to respond to his brother's touch.

"Dastan?" Tus whispered, urgently. "What are you trying to tell me, little brother?" He cupped a hand to the young prince's cheek, willing him to open his eyes. His thumb brushed lightly back and forth over the chiselled cheekbone, the touch providing as much comfort for Tus as the young prince.

Dastan's fevered murmurs continued, speaking to ghosts beyond his reach. "Mu...forgive..." The words became increasingly difficult to decipher until they were nothing more than broken syllables.

"Dastan, listen to me," Tus pressed on. "You are safe and we will make you well. Dastan? Listen to me." The king's hand absently smoothed the hair from his little brother's brow, noticing the furrows of disquiet he found there. It took him a second to realise that Dastan's eyes were now open, no more than a sliver, gazing ahead without recognition. "Dastan," Tus urged again, needing to feel the connection between them.

At first, the injured prince did not respond to his brother but his chapped lips moved in whispered words, begging for absolution, for forgiveness but finding no reply. Tears shimmered in his eyes before carving a path down his temples and onto the makeshift pillow beneath his head. Then he seemed to react to his brother's grip and turned a horror stricken face to Tus. The fear and desperation reflected in those eyes almost took the king's breath away. "I am sorry...I wish..." Dastan squeezed his eyes closed against a sudden spasm of pain and his words melted into a strangled cry of agony.

Tears mingled with the sweat of his mounting fever as Tus struggled to make his brother understand that all was forgiven. It struck his heart like an arrow to believe that Dastan might die still believing that he was hated and tainted with the death of their beloved father.

Tus took his brother's face in his hands, forcing those tormented eyes to focus on his. "Dastan, you are absolved! Sweet brother, you must let the guilt go. Let it go. Sssh..." Whether Dastan had heeded his words, Tus could not tell as he lapsed into more semi-conscious ramblings.

The young king released his grip and sat back onto his heels, rubbing the palm of his hand across his stubbled chin. He started when he felt a slender hand on his shoulder and met Tamina's reassuring smile. He forced a twitch of a smile in return and quickly stood, refusing to succumb to the emotions rising inside him. It did not matter that he was in the company of a princess – it was not appropriate to reveal his weaknesses. "I will fetch more water. His fever will rise still before it abates."

Tamina watched the king go, feeling every ounce of his fear and love for the young man fighting for his life at their feet. Sending a silent prayer to the gods for Dastan's survival, she turned her attention to the one thing she could do to help, preparing something simple for them to eat.

~~~ PoPoPoPoPoP ~~~

Dusk gave way to starlit night and Dastan's fever grew until it raged like a fire through his traumatised body. He shook with cold one moment and feebly pushed against the smothering heat of the blankets the next. The prince walked a path somewhere between living and dead, talking to loved ones long passed into the spirit world, where neither Tus nor Tamina could reach him. The princess wrung out endless cool cloths and draped them across Dastan's burning skin in an attempt to keep the fever at bay but her efforts were all but useless.

"He cannot withstand this much longer," she said to Tus. "His brain and heart will fail."

"But what more can we do?!" Tus cried in desperation, flinging a cloth across the tent.

Tamina thought for a moment. "We could take him to the oasis pool. It is not much but it will be cold by this time of night. It might just be enough to break his fever."

They lifted Dastan on his blanket, each taking one end and carefully manoeuvred him out of the tent flap. Throughout, the prince did not protest or acknowledge his discomfort, so lost was he in his delirium. Tamina staggered to keep up with Tus' desperate pace until they reached the edge of the camp. Moonlight shone on the rippling water as they lay Dastan down.

Tus jerked his head in the direction of a rocky corner of the water. "That part looks shallow enough." He knelt beside his brother. Dastan's skin was pale and clammy, beads of sweat standing out across his forehead and pooling at the base of his neck were his pulse throbbed erratically. The king pulled his brother upright by his arms and gestured to Tamina to take his legs.

Together, they waded into the water at the shallowest point. Tamina gasped at the sudden cold but felt her heart lift a little – it boded well for bringing Dastan's fever down. Tus stopped when they were thigh deep and the king drew his brother up against him for support as Tamina pushed the prince's body further down into the water.

Dastan gasped, ragged, uneven breaths tearing through his chest. His eyes remained closed but his head turned from side to side in agitation. His limbs flopped uselessly as he made un co-ordinated attempts to escape the freezing cold all around him.

"Ssssh, Dastan, be still," Tus said, pressing a firm hand to his little brother's forehead, forcing him to stop flailing. At first, Dastan resisted but his defences were weak and, in the end, all the fight left him. Tus and Tamina waited with bated breath, watching with growing concern as Dastan's fevered words ceased and were replaced with chattering teeth. The prince's whole body shook with tiny tremors and his lips started to take on a pale blue hue.

"We must get him out," Tamina said, noticing the purplish tinge now spreading up from Dastan's fingernail beds.

Now that he was soaked through, even in his emaciated state, the Persian prince was a dead weight and Tamina struggled to keep Dastan's body off the ground as they returned to the tent. Once inside, she bundled him up in the blanket and rubbed his hands and feet. Without shame, the princess pressed her body along the length of his, trying to give Dastan some warmth. Tus' face showed shock then slow understanding. "Come on," Tamina instructed, fearlessly, until the king took up a place on the other side of his brother.

At first, the pair were too busy trying to reheat the injured prince's body to feel awkward and Dastan's chattering teeth all but drowned out any other sound. Then, as time wore on and their patient relaxed into a deeper, less disturbed sleep, Tus and Tamina found themselves oddly intimate in the confined space of the tent. "Thank you, princess, for your help. I am glad that I am not here alone."

"For Dastan's sake, so am I," Tamina shot back in death-bed humour. Then, more seriously, she added, "I am glad to be here, too, no matter what the outcome."

"The gods have delivered us enough pain. Do we not deserve some good fortune?"

"Let us pray that you are right," Tamina replied. "Goodnight, King Tus."

"Goodnight, Princess Tamina."

~~~ PoPoPoPoPoP ~~~


	5. Chapter 5

KILLING TIME

By Allegra

See Part 1 for disclaimers.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wanted to focus more on the relationship between Tus & Dastan in this last part so Tamina has taken a back seat. When I began writing this fic, the film had not yet been released on DVD & now, after watching the movie again, I realise how flawed my timeline was! Given that this was primarily a hurt/comfort fic, I hope that you can just go with me on that & enjoy the story as it is!

PART 5

Tamina stretched her limbs with catlike grace as her mind slowly sharpened back into reality. Her first thought was of the warmth of Dastan's shoulder beneath her hand. Sinewy muscle cloaked in smooth, tanned skin pressed against her own pale flesh. Silently contemplating the strange, warm feeling of closeness with this Persian warrior, she flinched in surprise when her hand was covered by a rough, calloused one.

Eyes snapping up, Tamina found herself staring back into the dazed blue eyes of Dastan, hollowed out with fever. "Dastan!" she smiled, leaning over him. "Thank the gods!" she breathed. Dastan held her gaze, his ashen face reflecting how exhausted and ravaged his body was. "How are you feeling?" she asked, hardly daring to take her eyes off him in case he slipped away from her.

Dastan blinked wearily, "Wha..." His voice was thin and cracked, barely able to carry across the tiny space between them.

Tus was stirring and sat up, rubbing his eyes blearily. He glanced over, his face a pantomime of expressions as he registered the situation. Quickly getting to his knees, he bent over his brother. "Little brother! The gods have indeed smiled upon us at last." A faint smile twitched the corners of Dastan's lips but his eyelids already drooped with fatigue.

"No, Dastan...please, stay awake," Tus urged, cupping his brother's cheek with his open palm.

Tamina gently touched her hand to the king's wrist. "Tus, let him rest. He has much healing to do."

For a second, a flash of indignation crossed the man's face before he caught himself and nodded, silently.

"His fever has abated, but we should check his injuries for signs of further infection," Tamina said. "I will fetch some water."

Gently drawing the blanket down to Dastan's waist, Tus levered up the corner of the bandage crossing his brother's chest and examined the stitched wounds. The flesh was still an angry shade of pink but the inflammation seemed to be abating. Tus pressed a finger lightly to the edge of each wound and was relieved when no pus squeezed out.

Dastan moved restlessly under his brother's ministrations and his breath hissed through parched lips when the pressure increased. "Tus?" he murmured, eyes opening to slits of colour.

"I am here." Tus shifted so that he was clearly in his brother's line of sight. "How are you feeling?"

If Dastan heard the question, he did not reply. His face dimmed and crumpled into anxiety. "Tus...I didn't kill..."

Tus leaned forward, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Sssh, do not fret, I know. Tamina has told me everything. The slate is clean, Dastan. I am just so glad to see my brother alive and safe."

"As am I," Dastan sighed. His eyes travelled lazily over the confines of the tent, then to the array of instruments and bowls strewn on the ground around him. His brow furrowed in confusion. "What happened?"

"You do not remember?" Tus asked, anxiety edging his voice.

"I remember climbing...Nizam...he betrayed us," Dastan's eyes shone with wild panic and his fingers gripped Tus' arm with every ounce of strength he possessed.

Tus patted the prince's hand, gently prising bloodless fingers from his forearm. "I know, brother, I know. It is over. Do you remember how you got here?"

Dastan held his brother's gaze and Tus saw the turmoil reflected there as he pieced together the traumatic events of the past days. "The hassansin...I tried to escape but there was nowhere..." Dastan lifted his head, his hands struggling to find some purchase on the blankets beneath so that he could sit up. A veil of dark fog surged across his vision and Tus' face swam before his eyes.

"Shhh," Tus soothed, pressing the injured man back down. "You are safe now but you must rest. Your body has much healing to do."

Dastan waited for the black fog to lift before resolutely saying, "Tus, please, help me."

Against his better judgement, Tus shifted behind his brother and helped him manoeuvre into a semi-sitting position. As he held Dastan against his chest, the king could feel the rapid thumping of the younger man's heart through his back. Even though Dastan had not been missing for long, his maltreatment had taken its toll. The pressure of his spine and bony ribs could be felt keenly through the thin material of Tus' shavalar.

Dastan's breathing hitched against the sharp assault of pain through every limb as he tried to find a comfortable position. Finally, he was able to see the mangled mess of his own body. Black stitches stood out starkly against the skin on his torso and he could feel the jangle of injured nerves on his legs even when they were covered by the rough blanket. He reached down to run a trembling finger over the sewn gash on his rib cage. "You did this?" he enquired, his hoarse voice barely rising above a whisper.

"Tamina. She did a good job," Tus noted.

As if on cue, the tent flap lifted and Tamina ducked inside with a large bowl of water. She quickly took in the scene before her and scolded, "Dastan is in no state to be sitting up. He needs to rest and sleep."

Dastan looked at her, his eyes clear of fever and confusion. "Thank you, princess. You saved my life."

"I only helped," she replied, smiling at Tus. She placed the bowl down and peered at the wounds on Dastan's chest. "These look much better." She pressed a hand to his brow, monitoring for fever. "And you do not appear to have a fever anymore."

"Anymore?" Dastan echoed.

"If you do not remember then I am glad of it. We thought we were going to lose you," Tus said, his voice close in Dastan's ear.

Tus kept Dastan distracted with the details of how he and Tamina found him in the desert dunes while the princess tended to the wounds on his legs, clearing and replacing the poultice. The stoic prince remained silent throughout the treatment but his breathing belied the calm exterior, almost halting completely when Tamina was a little too rough removing the last of the unction from his thigh.

The king slipped his hand into his brother's , letting Dastan squeeze back as he fought to regain his composure. Tus felt the slim fingers tremble with a frail grip and he struggled to match this broken version of his brother with the vibrant, cocky young man he was accustomed to. As Tamina applied fresh bandages, he noticed how Dastan's eyelids began to droop and Tus gently slid from behind his back and slowly lowered his brother back onto the soft blankets.

Dastan started awake again, his gaze immediately seeking Tus out once more. "Brother?"

"Yes, Dastan?"

"Don't go, don't leave me," Dastan urged, his voice cracking with the need to keep his loved one close. "I cannot lose you again."

"Nor I you," Tus affirmed. "I will be here when you awake." He pressed a hand against Dastan's forehead, smoothing the anxious frown from his brow.

~~~ PoPoPoPoPoP ~~~

Dastan woke to the blood red glow of the setting sun filling the tent. A light breeze lifted the door flap and he turned his face to let it soak the sweat from his face. For a moment, he floated somewhere between wakefulness and slumber, unable to find the energy to launch himself back into the world. There was not an inch of his body which did not ache or twinge with pain at every slight move. But thirst overpowered the desire to remain still and he reached for the cup of liquid beside him.

Taking a gulp, his throat revolted at the vile bitterness which attacked his taste buds. Spluttering, he dropped the cup and squeezed his eyes tightly closed against the rainbow of pain which shimmered through his body. Dastan coughed relentlessly, feeling the stitches tugging against the sensitive skin on his chest and he saw the all too familiar blackness reaching back over his vision.

"Dastan?" Tamina's clear voice rang like a bell in his ear and he felt her hands on his shoulders.

"Tus..." he managed to choke out before a strong hand thumped him hard on the back.

"I am here, brother. I promised I would be," Tus replied, his voice tinged with fear, as he watched his brother's colour shift from red to pink while he thumped his back. It felt wrong to be hitting an invalid so violently in an attempt to keep him alive but the action appeared to be working.

Dastan took a steadying breath, wincing at the tug of pain in his chest as he did so. He pointed an accusatory finger at the overturned cup, "That is not water."

Tamina took one look at the spilled contents and gasped, "No, it is not! That was a rare and expensive ointment to keep your wounds clean."

"Oh," Dastan remarked in a small voice, his throat feeling as if it had been ravaged by fire.

Tamina gave him a look of admonishment and poured him a cup of fresh water. "Here." She motioned for Tus to support his brother to avoid another choking incident. The renewed bond between the brothers was not lost on her. Tus' fear that he might lose his last remaining brother had been palpable from the moment she had told him of the dagger and its power. Now that Dastan was alive and awake, the familial ties which bound the two together had grown even stronger.

Dastan was unwilling to let the king leave his side and Tamina found herself feeling like an outsider, witnessing a private moment she had no right to watch. She glanced up at Tus' face as he carefully held the cup to his brother's lips, catching the older man's glance. He nodded and Tamina shifted away from the pair, busying herself with sorting the mess they had made in their desperate bid to save Dastan's life.

Dastan gulped the water down, wishing there were more, but Tus withdrew the cup. "A little at a time or you will make yourself sick." Releasing his brother, he plumped the blankets and skins to create a more comfortable upright position then gently shifted Dastan until his back was raised from the ground. "How are you feeling today?"

Dastan took a moment to catch his breath, feeling like a man of ninety. "Better." He surveyed Tus' face and saw something – guilt? – flash in them before he looked away. "Tus? What is it?" Dastan felt his stomach clench with dread. With all the tragedy that had befallen their family in recent days, fear came to him all too quickly.

Tus shook his head and picked at a fraying hole in the blanket. Dastan sealed a hand over his brother's. "You can tell me."

Tus looked up and met his brother's blue eyes. They were no longer fever bright but lit with the mellow light of evening, exhaustion clear in the dark smudges of shadow beneath the sockets. His cheekbones were carved with lines of fatigue and weight loss, his lips were dry and cracked from enduring hours in the unforgiving heat of the desert. The words burned in his mind and sat like ash on his tongue. He knew what Dastan would say and that made Tus hate himself even more for making it sound like they had a choice.

"Tus, tell me." Dastan's eyes had lost the soft edge of fatigue and were now wide with unease.

"Dastan, we cannot remain here. We do not have supplies enough to hold out another day, not if we want to make it back to Alamut. The journey will take another day or more even if we leave now..." The words tumbled from his mouth, each sentence more loathsome to him than the last.

"Tus, it is all right. I understand. I can do this." Dastan smiled but Tus could see how worn and thin it was compared to the grin he used to flash when a challenge came his way.

"It is too soon...you need more time," Tus murmured, huffing out a breath of frustration.

"Which we do not have," Dastan pointed out. "I can ride. It is dusk. We should leave soon to give us the coolness of the night."

Tus nodded, his face stern and unbending. He could feel himself stiffening inside, stately detachment taking the place of a brother who needed to keep his sibling safe, who needed to know that he would not lose entire family to this cursed dagger. "I will ready the horses."

Dastan waited until his brother had left the tent before closing his eyes heavily against the fading light. He had the strength of a newborn kitten; the prospect of sitting astride a horse, let alone riding one across the desert, seemed as alien as becoming the warrior he used to be. His brother carried enough guilt without Dastan letting him see his misgivings about the stamina he would need for the journey.

They could not remain at this outpost for a night longer, that was a fact that no one could hide from. The other fact, Dastan realised, was that if Tus or Tamina witnessed the enormous effort it was going to take to get dressed, they would not let him leave. If he was going to do this, he needed to get through the agony of movement alone.

Palms to the ground, he held his breath and slowly bent his legs. Dastan's wasting, lacerated muscles protested but he had been sliced in the leg before. He could deal with the relentless dull pain of walking on an injury and a limp was better than not walking at all. Once his feet were planted on terra firma, Dastan braced himself for the onslaught of pain when he actually pulled himself to his feet.

He gingerly leaned forwards, one arm hugging his ribs as if it would hold his insides still, the other anchoring and steadying him to the ground as he began to stand slowly. White pain lanced across his chest and he swallowed the cry, forcing it back down his sore, swollen throat. He thought he heard something tear in his side but did not dare look. He focused on the central tent pole, edging his fingers up it with a white knuckled grip until his legs straightened.

By the time he was standing, or leaning, against the pole, Dastan felt as if his whole head were going to explode. He was gritting his teeth hard and his breaths sawed in and out of agonized lungs, forcing his lacerated chest to rise and fall with cruel intensity. He dropped his forehead against the pole, unable to do anything more than clutch the wooden strut as if his life depended upon it. He concentrated on calming his shuddering breaths and felt the warm trickle of sweat track a path down his neck. Tremors ran through his body without cessation and he began to wonder whether it were his legs holding him up or the vice-like grip he had on the pole.

"Pull yourself together," he quietly chided himself and opened his eyes slowly, casting a searching glance around the confined space for something resembling clothes. Dastan tried to remember what he had been wearing but found it a struggle to keep track of any thought for longer than a second. He did not want Tus to see him like this but a greater part of him knew that, if he did not ask for help in this moment, he would become intimately acquainted with the hard packed sand beneath him very soon.

Clearing his throat, he called for his brother as loudly as he could manage, even that small action causing pain in his throat and chest. For a few frightening moments, Dastan was not sure Tus had heard him and the likelihood of passing out loomed large in the injured man's mind. He called again, hearing the desperate high-pitched edge in his own voice and hating it. The room was shifting more violently now and Dastan began to feel sick. He pressed his forehead against the tent pole once more and closed his eyes but that only made him feel worse.

Just as he began fighting his gag reflex and the urge to vomit, Tus ducked through the tent flap. "Dastan! What were you thinking?!"

"Thank the gods," Dastan breathed, crumpling against his brother's sturdy frame, his forehead coming to rest on the king's shoulder. "Tus..." his voice trailed off as his remaining strength left him and darkness overcame him.

Tus stumbled under the dead weight of his unconscious brother and caught Dastan under his arms. "Woah, woah...Dastan?" His brother's head lolled loosely against his arm and Tus carefully shifted his weight as he lowered the young man back onto the makeshift bed. He arranged his pliable limbs as comfortably as he could then poured fresh water. Supporting Dastan's neck in the crook of his arm, Tus trickled water between his brother's parched lips.

At first, there was no response and the water dribbled uselessly from the corners of Dastan's mouth. "Come on, Dastan, come back to me..." Tus prayed aloud. As if in answer, dark lashes fluttered and the prince's brow furrowed as the cup of water was pressed against his lips. "Drink," Tus urged, and Dastan swallowed reflexively, letting the cool liquid wet his dry throat.

Dazed, blue eyes opened and a half smile crossed Dastan's confused face. "How did I get down here again?"

"Stubbornness," Tus chided, grinning with relief. "What possessed you to try and get up alone?"

Dastan frowned and his eyes lingered on the folds of the tent above his head as he tried to unjumble the thoughts spinning in his brain. "I...wanted to get dressed...but I couldn't find my clothes. I think it started going wrong from there."

"Mmhmm," Tus noted, unconvinced. Then, his eyes hardened and Dastan thought how much he looked like their father in that moment. "Dastan, you could have re-opened your wounds. You are not up for travelling. I do not know what I was thinking."

Dastan levelled an unwavering gaze on his big brother. "But we must...I must. Please, let us not argue. I can do this, Tus. I just need a little help if you will give it."

For a moment, Tus held his gaze and Dastan could see the worry etched on his face. Finally, the king nodded and swallowed, "What would you have me do?"

"Finding me some clothes would be a welcome start," Dastan said, hopefully.

~~~ PoPoPoPoPoP ~~~

It took the pair the better part of twenty minutes to dress Dastan for the arduous journey ahead. Each task of putting an arm through a sleeve or a leg into his braccae was torment for the healing prince. Tus watched his brother closely, noting with anxiety the beads of sweat forming on the patient's skin. Dastan gritted his teeth in determination against the waves of pain wracking his body and swallowed back cries into grunts and gasps. When he caught Tus' worried gaze, he quickly looked away, refusing to be stopped or told that he could not travel. The pain of riding a horse would be nothing if he ended up dead because they stayed here and starved. Nevertheless, he still felt the heat of Tus' eyes upon his every motion, burning like a brand into him.

The injured prince tried to make light of the situation, "I usually like blondes to dress me...a little less hairy, too," but his voice trembled when he spoke, only betraying his weakness even further.

If Tus noticed, he chose not to comment, instead keeping up the pretence. "Looking the way you do, I would be surprised if any woman would come in half a mile of you."

"You're just jealous," Dastan muttered, unable to contain a retort, but just those few syllables left him breathless. He was grateful for Tus' unexpected sensitivity as the two men wrestled with the remaining clothes wordlessly. It was as if the king knew how close his little brother was to the brink of tolerance. Just one kind word of reassurance would vanquish the strength he needed to keep pushing his body. This journey home had to be made. Tus could pretend that they had time to wait but, deep down, both of them knew they did not. Yet, with Dastan's health still greatly compromised, neither wanted to consider that riding out of this small camp might still be the death of him.

~~~ PoPoPoPoPoP ~~~

The sun had almost set by the time Dastan emerged from the tent, grey faced and leaning heavily on Tus. Tamina took one look at the two men and immediately dashed over, pressing a hand to Dastan's hot forehead. "Tus, you cannot be serious. He cannot travel like this."

Tus opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by Dastan, "I have ridden in worse condition," he said, gripping the princess's wrist and forcing her hand away from his face.

"I seriously doubt that," Tamina snorted, the superior 'know-it-all' tone in her voice that irked Dastan.

Dastan looked imploringly at his big brother. "Just get me astride a horse and I will be fine." To back up his argument, he straightened as much as he could bear and took a faltering step away from Tus' side. Turning his eyes to the sky, he added, "It is almost a full moon. We will have good light to ride by. We should make haste."

Tamina and Tus stood side by side and watched suspiciously as Dastan walked slowly towards the horses. The princess crossed her arms and shook her head. "Tus, really..."

"I know," Tus cut in, his eyes never leaving Dastan's back. "Do you think this is any easier for me? Believe me, I do not wish to lose anyone else close to me." He turned to face her, his voice low and edged with desperation. "If there were time to wait, I would do it. There is nothing to be gained by waiting." Without waiting for her response, he ducked back into the tent to gather the last of their belongings.

~~~ PoPoPoPoPoP ~~~

Dastan needed help to mount the spare horse and Tus was reluctant to let go of his brother when he saw him sway in the saddle. He could see the tension in the prince's face, the planes of his cheekbones drawn in with barely concealed pain. Whitened knuckles gripped the reins and the horse whickered impatiently as Dastan tried to balance himself comfortably in the saddle.

He looked down at Tus' anxious face and patted the hand still vice-like around his thigh. "You can let go now, brother." He did not want to add that the hand was pressing painfully on one of his wounds.

Tus grudgingly dropped his hand to the reins and gently calmed the horse. "Dastan..."

"Don't," Dastan said.

"You did not let me finish," Tus protested.

"I do not need to. I know exactly what you are going to say...so please don't. Let's just get started. Waiting will not make it any easier." Dastan pressed his heels gently into the horse's flanks, urging the beast forwards and away from Tus' reproachful gaze.

The trio struck out into the desert. Tus led the way; many years of study had taught him how to read his direction in the stars and he turned his horse with a surety that put Tamina's mind at ease. It still felt like a dream that their lives had taken such an unexpected turn – her conquerors, once her enemies, could now become dearer than friends to her. Tus' sincerity and kind heart made her pulse quicken but Dastan was a true match for her. He did not treat her as a prince should treat a princess, yet it made the dance even more enjoyable. Tamina's feelings shifted like the sand dunes on the horizon, their allegiance swayed from one moment to the next. These men had brought her city low, yet her hatred had melted into an affection unattained by any reputable suitor at court.

Tamina glanced back at Dastan, slowing her horse long enough for him to catch up. His skin looked ashen, the shadows of his eye sockets and cheekbones like black soot in the pale moonlight. "Have you ever ventured this far south before?"

Dastan blinked wearily as if the princess had roused him from slumber. "I have never had cause to. You have seen for yourself – it is a bleak place."

Tamina looked around her, taking in the gentle gradients of the dunes and the twinkling stars overhead. "You mean there is nothing worth ransacking? I do not see bleakness, I see wild, untamed beauty." She thought how apt a description that might be of the man beside her.

Dastan let out a slight snort of derision. Every step the horse took lighted new beacons of pain throughout his muscles and left him devoid of even an ounce of energy to appreciate the twilight world around him. His broken body cried out for the rest he knew would not come for several hours yet. He wished Tamina would stop talking to him; he did not have the breath to waste on idle chatter. It was all he could do to draw air through his swollen throat and punctured, stitched chest.

Still, it would have been too much to ask that the princess relent. "You disagree?"

"It is easy to see beauty when you travel with food in your belly and fresh water. The desert is nothing more than a graveyard when you are starving." Dastan heard the bitterness in his own voice and immediately regretted his words. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tamina's eyes flash with the prospect of a challenge and felt his heart sink.

"It is really true then? That you grew up on the streets?" Tamina asked, her voice soft, curious and uncertain.

"King Sharaman lifted me from the gutter and made me a prince. I owed him my life and I would have given it freely so that he might live," Dastan whispered, melancholy clouding his voice. He felt a weariness deep within his bones; it was too much to break open these painful, conflicted memories when he was already laid so low. "Tus is far ahead. We must make haste," he said, diverting the attention away from himself. Spurring the horse forwards, dark blotches suddenly danced across Dastan's vision as a wave of nausea rose like the tide, stinging pain lancing through him with every galloping step on the soft sand. He gripped the reins tighter, forcing deep breaths into his aching lungs. He only knew that he had to escape Tamina's incessant questions and bring this torture to an end as quickly as possible.

~~~ PoPoPoPoPoP ~~~

Tus did not like that Dastan had insisted on remaining at the rear of the party. It might be the more chivalrous option to shield Tamina between the two of them but the injured prince was in no state to be protecting anyone. As one hour wore into the next, Tus found himself glancing back with increasing regularity to check that his brother was keeping up. He had been grateful for Tamina's decision to ride alongside Dastan for a time but gradually the gap between them had opened up and the princess had picked up the pace, hoping to encourage the prince's horse along with her own.

In all the battles and skirmishes they had fought alongside one another in, Tus had never worried about Dastan. In fact, he did not recall even sparing a thought for his adopted brother until the fray had come to an end. Tus wanted to believe it was because he knew what a capable warrior the young prince was but he feared it had more to do with an emotional detachment he had developed at an early age. Sharaman and Nizam had always instilled the importance of family in the royal princes but they had also made it clear that emotions were a weakness. They clouded one's judgement and left you vulnerable to attack.

Whether he had taken the lesson too far, Tus only remembered that, as he had learned more about the role of king, he had also learned to block his emotions. It had taken a murderous blow from within the heart of the household for him to break through the dam and realise that even royal blood was fallible. Whether murdered by Dastan or Nizam, the father whom he had never pleased had gone to his grave disbelieving that Tus was ready to be king. Tus would never have the opportunity to prove him wrong. He had lost his father, his brother and, with them, the chance to make them proud. All those dammed emotions now boiled in his veins, making him want to scream to the heavens for the chance to turn back time, to show his family how much he loved them. Only Dastan remained and the king had never felt such strength of love and fear as he did now, seeing his little brother on the brink of death.

He wished they did not need to make this journey and, seeing Dastan's failing strength, Tus questioned his decision. Yet, it had not been his alone. Dastan had understood the situation and insisted that they leave. A strong stubborn streak ran deep in them both, perhaps the closest thing to a filial bond that they shared. Tus had never really considered the ways in which he and Dastan were alike. In truth, aside from his carefree nature and unconventional battle strategies, Tus realised he knew next to nothing about the man he called 'brother'.

Where Garsiv had often done little more than tolerate Dastan, Tus was accustomed to being the older brother and the young street urchin's arrival in the family did not threaten him in the same way. He knew his duty was to become a decisive and formidable king for the Persian people and child's play had always been overshadowed by this knowledge. His relationship with Garsiv had not been much different to the one he shared with Dastan. He saw Dastan as a much needed ally and a link with the people of Nasaf, a loyal commander, bound by family ties. He had shown his new brother affection and enjoyed his company but, until the recent events unfolded, Tus had not questioned the prince's role in his own life.

The gods played cruel games, that they would take away a father and a brother before they could give Tus the capacity to care for his family. The only remaining link with the childhood Tus had lost was riding at his side, and they did not even share blood. For so long, he had been a planet caught in orbit, marked for an endless path, always the same distance from everyone he should want to keep close. Now, the untimely death of Sharaman, followed so swiftly by Garsiv's, had ripped Tus from his moorings.

He watched Dastan valiantly struggle to keep his pain hidden from view as they chased the night across the horizon. What Tus would not give to see the joyous, mischievous warrior he had come to rely on returned to him.

Turning his eyes to the sky, the king searched for the North Star, charting the path that would lead them safely home. They could not afford for him to make an error.

~~~ PoPoPoPoPoP ~~~

By the time dawn broke on the horizon, the trio had made good time but they would not reach the gleaming minarets of Alamut before the heat of the day was upon them. They rode their horses hard for as long as the animals could stand but Tus soon had greater concerns than the state of their steeds. Dastan had been flagging for the past hour, insisting that he could continue and, in spite of Tus' better judgement, they had little choice but to push on.

But, in the grey light of dawn, Dastan's weariness was more pronounced. His face was drawn into tight lines of agony and, when Tus decided to keep pace with his brother, he could hear the rasping breaths of a man fighting against deep pain. The dark line where the hassansin's whip had ravaged the prince's throat stood out in stark contrast to the pale skin beneath. Calloused fingers gripped the reins and pommel as if they were the only things keeping Dastan upright.

"We will find a place to rest soon. We still have an hour before the heat." Tus glanced at Tamina for a response and she nodded. He turned to his brother. "Dastan? Can you keep going?" One look at his brother gave him his answer. Dastan's head rolled loosely, drooping to his chest. This time he made no pretence of being fine. "Dastan?" Tus called, anxiety lacing his voice. He watched helplessly as Dastan's hands dropped limply from the reins and he slid from the saddle, dropping like a stone to the sand. His horse sidestepped and whinnied in protest at the sudden shift of weight.

"Dastan!" Tus shouted, leaping from his horse and rushing to his brother's side. He gently rolled Dastan onto his back, cursing at the heat that rolled off his brother's skin.

Tamina was at his side in an instant. "Dastan?" she echoed, running feather light fingers over his face, gently trying to bring the prince back to his senses. She met Tus' eyes, his panic reflecting her own. "We must get him into the shade." Her eyes scanned the empty horizon where the sand drifted uselessly from one dune to the next.

"There!" Tus pointed to the shadow of a rocky outcrop on far on the horizon, faint enough to make the pair blink and squint, fearful that it was nothing more than a mirage sent to hector them. Turning his attention back to his ailing brother, the king attempted to rouse him. Cupping a hand to Dastan's cheek, he jostled him as roughly as he dared. "Dastan, can you hear me, brother? You must wake up." Dastan's head flopped lifelessly against the king's hand and no words could rouse him.

Glancing up at the princess, Tus instructed, "Help get him on my horse." Easing a hand behind Dastan's back, he pulled the young prince upwards before slipping a hand beneath his knees, gathering him into his arms. Tus swayed for a moment against the weight and shifting sands beneath his feet. He moved towards his horse and, with Tamina's help, managed to secure Dastan in front of him in the saddle.

The heat from Dastan's fevered body seeped through his clothes into Tus and, as he reached steadying arms around his brother, the king felt the fluttering of his struggling heart beneath his palms. Dastan's forehead rolled into the crook of Tus' neck and the king could barely feel the warmth of breath against his shoulder. He sent a silent prayer to the gods for their salvation as he pushed his horse on, diverting the group's course long enough to reach the sanctuary of shade before the sun reached its height.

~~~ PoPoPoPoPoP ~~~

Once he was resting comfortably against the cool wall of rock, Tamina dribbled water between Dastan's pliant lips. She watched him slowly come back them, his dark blue eyes staggering to half mast as the cool water slid down his parched throat. "That's it," the princess coaxed. "Just a little more." He obediently drank, his eyes sliding to Tamina's face, pain reflected like a sparking flame there. Smiling in reassurance, the princess carefully withdrew the skin and placed a cool cloth against his forehead. "How do you feel?" she asked, quietly.

Dastan swallowed, savouring the dampness in his mouth. "Better..."

"Why did you not say anything?" Tus demanded, his voice calm but tinged with frustration and fear.

"Would it have made any difference?" Dastan asked, his lips quirking into a weak smile.

"You may not have needed to plant yourself into the sand so dramatically," Tus asserted, a smile playing on his own lips.

Tamina snorted back a laugh. "I will see what provisions we have left for food." Darting a warning look at Tus, she added, "He needs rest."

Dastan slowly took in their surroundings and he frowned in confusion, "This is not Alamut."

"Very astute, little brother. We have another half night's ride before we reach the city. We would not have made it before the heat of the day. So, tonight we make camp here." Tus gestured to the camp he had erected while Dastan was unconscious.

"I am sorry, brother," Dastan said sadly, his eyes searching Tus' face for his redemption.

Tus reached forwards and took the prince's hand in his own. "Do not be sorry, little brother. You are not to blame. You did what any man would do in your place. I am only sorry that I did not play my part better."

Dastan looked down at the strong, brown hand covering his own. He did not remember the last time he had been so close to his brother. His chest constricted with emotion and he swallowed back the lump in his throat. "Thank you," Dastan murmured, hoping that his voice did not betray him, as he tried to get a hold on the torrent of emotion trying to burst free.

"Dastan?" Tus asked, seeing the struggle in his brother's face.

Those kind words were enough to break the dam and Dastan swiped angrily at the tears that sprang from his eyes and carved rivulets down his sand streaked face. "Gah, I thought I was going to lose you," he choked. "Father, Garsiv...I could not..."

Tus was momentarily too shocked to speak; he had rarely seen emotion in his brothers beyond anger. Dastan had always seemed so carefree and heedless of the real horrors of the world, it was hard to believe he considered anything beyond where the next adventure would arrive from. Tus had learned to confide his secret fears and worries in his wives or, occasionally, the guiding hand of his father. It was alien to see Dastan brought so low. He pressed a hand to his little brother's shoulder in solidarity.

"You may not be my blood...but you are my family. You are all I have left," Dastan whispered, turning swimming blue eyes on his brother's face. "I do not deserve..."

"Sshhh," Tus soothed. "Blood be damned!" Pulling a knife from his belt, he swiftly drew the blade across his fingertip and grabbed Dastan's hand, quickly slicing into the tender flesh of his brother's thumb. Dastan hissed in a breath but, before he had time to react, Tus pressed their bleeding hands together, forcing blood to mingle with blood. "We are one, Dastan. You are my true brother. Never feel that you do not deserve this life." Searching Dastan's face for acceptance, he continued, "We will return to Alamut and Nizam will pay for what he has done."

Blinking back the prickle of tears, Dastan nodded. "My brother," he sighed.

~~~ PoPoPoPoPoP ~~~

Dastan slept for much of the day, roused occasionally by Tamina or Tus trying to force food or water into him. He still ached all over, each muscle and tendon protesting every movement. But he no longer felt light-headed, a small mercy. The shadows on the sand lengthened and Dastan mentally prepared himself for the hard ride ahead of them. Levering himself up with his back flat against the rocky wall, the prince forced his jelly legs to take his weight, and waited for a moment while he fought hyperventilation.

He watched Tamina and Tus prepare the horses, packing up the camp and ensuring the animals were fed and watered for the ride. Dastan swallowed hard. The memory of last night's agonising journey made his head spin and he wanted nothing more than to curl up under a blanket until his body had healed itself.

He had already made a fool of himself, crying in front of his brother, so he may as well continue the trend. "Tus!" he called, focusing on choosing some heroic words to excuse his weakness, but finding none. Suddenly, the king was in front of him and Dastan just blurted his thought out before stubbornness betrayed him. "I do not think I can ride alone. Can I ride with you?"

Tus masked his shock admirably but Dastan had already clocked the look of surprise. "Of course." Wrapping a supportive arm around his brother, the king helped Dastan towards their waiting mount. He hoisted himself into the saddle and reached down a hand to help the prince up in front of him. Dastan took a deep breath, corralling the pain shooting through his limbs and torso. For a moment, he felt the awkwardness of being in his brother's arms but, as Tus urged the horse into motion, an unfamiliar swell filled the prince's chest. He did not know what caused it but somehow it was all intertwined with the man at his back, the girl at his side and hope in the golden glow of home on the distant horizon.

~~~FIN~~~


End file.
